


Sun's Getting Low

by mrstater



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. References, Christmas, F/M, Falling In Love, Fourth of July, Friends to Lovers, Halloween, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Bruce Banner/Betty Ross, Minor Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Post-CA:TWS, Thanksgiving, pre-A:AoU, references to past Phil Coulson/The Cellist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 65,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3915883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD's collapse leaves Natasha uncertain of her place in the world. While Bruce enjoys life at Avengers Tower, he continues to doubt whether he's more an asset than a liability to the team. Can they learn to trust each other--and themselves--enough to help each other find what they're looking for?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We Meet Again

"It's been a while… Agent Romanoff," Bruce said, by way of greeting, peering owlishly at her behind the lenses of his glasses.

With a slight smile, but without moving from where she stood in the doorway of the lab, mindful that _he_ hadn't moved toward her, Natasha replied, "Memory could be rusty, but I thought we were on a first name basis? Even before there wasn't a SHIELD to be an agent of."

The last part she added to gauge his reaction; Bruce had always been, at best, wary of the agency.

As it turned out, he was right to be.

He ducked his head, one hand reaching up to tug at the hair curling over the collar of his lab coat. "Yeah…I just thought…" His eyes flicked up to meet hers again. "It's been a while."

Twice now he'd said that. Although it was the truth, Natasha had been a spy for so long that the truth sometimes chafed. This was one of those times. The hint of accusation in the words, despite his uttering them in his careful flat tone, that she should've seen him before now. As if she didn't have enough regrets in her life without feeling guilty for neglecting Bruce Banner. Then again, the slight hesitation before he'd addressed her, the formal use of her title, the physical distance between them, might mean he'd have preferred _more_ time pass between encounters.

Finding out which it was, was kind of the point of her being here now.

Before she could say anything, he took off his glasses, slipping them into the breast pocket of his lab coat-alongside a couple of pens, she noted, with some amusement-as he stepped around his workstation.

"Well, _Natasha_ ," he said, approaching her, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

A friendlier greeting, accompanied by a smile, but there was still that hint of wariness in it, as well as in the light grasp of his fingers around hers as he accepted her handshake-briefly, before he wove his own together again-which unsettled her.

Fortunately, she was a skilled enough actress that she didn't sound it in the least when she replied, "Actually I hoped it wouldn't be just a visit."

She paused, waiting to see whether the scientist would work out her meaning.

"You want to move in."

"Just till the storm passes," she heard herself explaining, hastily.

Before she came here, Natasha prepared for a number of reactions from Bruce about her desire to take refuge in Avengers Tower. Incredulity, however, had not been one of them. She also hadn't anticipated feeling like an adult announcing to her parents that being out on her own hadn't worked out and she needed to come back home to live with them. Not that she had experience with parent-child relationships.

Maybe it was that of all the rooms in the Tower, the lab was strictly Bruce's domain. On the other hand, his body language wasn't that of someone who was totally comfortable in his surroundings. But was it ever?

"I tried weathering it on my own, but all my covers are blown, and my usual network…"

Her words trailed off as she searched for the correct ones to describe this unique situation she'd found herself in, for the first time in her life without anyone to tell her where to go and what to do there.

"Isn't a working net?" Bruce suggested.

She gave a puff of a laugh. "Something like that."

"What about Barton? I thought you two were…?"

Unclasping his hands, he gestured vaguely at her-at her necklace, she realized, touching her fingers to the arrow pendant- before tucking them into his pants pockets.

In fact Natasha had gone to the farm for a couple of days after the hearing, but hadn't stayed long.

"Clint's got his own back to watch."

More importantly, Laura's and the kids'. What kind of Aunt Nat would she be if she put them in any more danger than they were already in? Not to mention, the sudden lack of employment left Clint with time to finally get around to building that tool shed that had been on his honey-do list for…how many years now? Laura must be in heaven, having him home for the foreseeable. Either that, or his obsession with remodeling would have her wishing for another mission.

"Anyway," said Natasha, coming back to the lab, its sleek tech the antithesis of the Barton home her thoughts had wandered to, "it's more like the storm's weathering me, between the arrests and assassinations…"

The lines of Bruce's forehead twitched at that, a muscle flickered at the curve of his jaw. In spite of her deep steady breathing, her heart accelerated behind her ribs. Was he thinking of the information that had been released about _her_? About the people _she_ assassinated?

"Maria told me-well, she told Tony and me-things were rough out there for SHIELD agents. Former agents."

 _He_ had no skill whatsoever at schooling away a blush, and as his cheeks reddened, his gaze flickered from hers again. He leaned over one of the nearby workstations, feigning distraction with something on one of the displays as he fumbled in his pocket to take out his glasses.

"I wondered if you were in danger," he said, more softly. "I mean, not that you can't handle yourself…I've seen that up close and personal."

"I had a couple close shaves with HYDRA. Maria persuaded me to stop taking unnecessary risks and come here."

Bruce snorted. "Sorry…I just…Maria's got a weird sense of humor. Avengers Tower a risk-free environment?"

"Well, HR's not really her thing."

"Yet she persuaded you to take Tony up on his offer."

He was in a mood-or several-and that Natasha couldn't get a solid read on him only supported Maria's claim that she was worn out and needed this.

"That still depends," she said.

"On?"

"You."

She hadn't been aware that during the course of their conversation, she'd moved closer to his desk, that he'd come around the front toward her, until Bruce took a step backward, one hand on the glass surface.

"Me?"

"Yeah."

He ran his hand over his chin, the silvery stubble rasping against his palm. "It's not my tower, Natasha." He let out a short bitter laugh. "Hell, I don't even pay rent."

"Good to know, given my current state of unemployment."

Bruce looked at her, but his eyes were obscured by the glare on his glasses. "I'm sorry about your job."

"Are you? I know how you've always felt about SHIELD."

"That's impressive, considering _I_ don't even know how I've always felt about SHIELD." He smiled, gently. Sadly. "Losing your job sucks."

The image of him, dressed in that shabby suit, prowling around that shack in Calcutta, came suddenly to the front of her mind, along with the memory of the lurch her heart had given at the sight, which hadn't strictly been from fear of the Other Guy. It hadn't occurred to her until now that Bruce had experience with this very situation. Not just with finding yourself out of a job, but with being unable to trust the people you thought you could.

"Lucky for us we've got this Avenger gig on the backburner, huh?"

"Mmm," came Bruce's noncommittal reply as he crossed his arms.

Of course, just because he was empathetic didn't mean she'd put him at ease.

"This is Avengers Tower, Natasha. You're an Avenger. You don't need to ask me if you can stay here."

"I know. But I do need to ask you if after everything that's happened…Are you okay having me for a roommate?"

Bruce's lips curved slightly in a bland expression, creases deepening at the corners of his eyes as he contemplated her for a long time in silence. Natasha gave her head a little shake to flick her straightened hair back over her shoulder, and tried not to feel hurt that he didn't have an answer right away. That he had to weigh his decision, and her, and might find her wanting. That was, after all, what she was giving him a chance to do.

Finally, he asked, "Are you clean and quiet?"

Was that one of his dry jokes? Natasha answered as if it were.

"I doubt you'd even know I'm here."

"Then you're way ahead of Tony," Bruce said, "and I've lived with him for two years without incident."


	2. Third Wheels

For two years Bruce had been living in Avengers Tower with Tony, and his cheekbones still prickled with a flush whenever Pepper Potts came to town and greeted him with a hug. Which, he had a sneaking suspicion, was partly why she always greeted him affectionately, if her eyes, twinkling with mischief as she drew back, were any indication. That, and because Tony was equally reliable in _his_ reaction, scowling and sulking when his girlfriend withdrew from his attempts at a welcome back makeout session to greet his lab partner. It was like being back in high school, really, which was not a period of his life Bruce had ever thought he'd want to re-live. Funny, how with age and experience came perspective.

And state-of-the-art lab equipment.

The usual small-talk followed:

"How's California?"

"Sunny," she replied. "You should come sometime. I worry you're getting a vitamin D deficiency holed up in this lab. Not that I don't appreciate you keeping Tony out of trouble."

"Wait, is that why Banner's here? I thought it was so I could get him _in_ to trouble."

"Unfortunately," Bruce said, "that's slightly more accurate."

Today, though, the conversation took a new turn.

"One more reason I'm glad Agent Romanoff's staying here now," said Pepper. "You two mad scientists need supervision."

"Uh, excuse me," said Tony, "we happen to be two very _happy_ scientists. Especially me," he added, slipping his arms around Pepper's waist. "Or I will be, if you make out with me."

Pepper pecked him on the lips, then continued with the conversation, "Is she all settled in?"

"Who?" Tony asked.

"Natasha."

"Are you accusing us of having a girl in the house? Because I swear to God, you're the only woman in the world to me. I pine for you, night and day…"

Rolling her eyes, Pepper turned to Bruce, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"I think what Tony's trying to say is that we don't see a lot of Natasha."

"No, I really am trying to say that I pine for you, Pepper."

"Okay," Bruce said, "he does do that."

Although he wouldn't necessarily define it as _pining_ so much as moaning about how much long distance relationships sucked.

Once, not in the mood to play Love Doctor, Bruce pointed out that that long distance relationships sucked more for people who didn't have private jets and flying suits.

Tony replied, "That's one of the things I love most about you, Bruce. You're such a good _listener_."

"If by _listener_ you mean _captive audience_."

"You really _get_ people."

Pepper got people, too-if Tony really qualified as _people_ -so when she grinned conspiratorially at Bruce he thought it wouldn't come at all as a surprise to her what played out in her absences from New York. But she told Tony his sentiment was deeply touching and let him kiss her again, more lingeringly this time.

The dynamic between the three of them wasn't _so_ much like high school that Bruce was embarrassed by their PDA-although it occurred to him maybe that wasn't a term to apply to adult relationships. He turned back to the simulations he'd left running, to give them their moment, but not before he felt a twinge in his chest as his traitor mind inevitably thought of how long it had been since _he_ had one of these moments of being reunited with the woman he loved…and how much longer he'd go on without one.

He tried to concentrate on the data, but soon became distracted again by the topic Pepper brought up, of the state of things with their new roommate.

Natasha had moved in almost two weeks ago, the day she'd asked him if he was okay with her staying in the Tower. Bruce had been surprised, first that she'd wanted to move in at all, after the awkwardness of their conversation, her discomfort with him evident, and then that she would do so immediately. Most of her stuff was in storage, she told him, and she'd send for it later if she needed it, but she'd brought a duffel bag of clothes and her laptop with her. She was one of those people, he supposed, who set her mind to something and then _did_ it, without dithering. Come to think of it, probably a necessary quality for a spy.

Either that, or the collapse of SHIELD had left her truly desperate.

If there was anything Bruce understood, it was desperation. Hoping to put her at ease, he'd offered to give her a tour of the Tower, which Tony had renovated extensively following the Battle of New York to accommodate the Avengers as well as the divisions of Stark Industries based in the city. Natasha declined, not wanting to interrupt his work and saying JARVIS could show her where to stay. She wasn't rude, exactly, but she was distant. Which Bruce took as a hint that she preferred he keep out of her way.

Apparently he wasn't the only one preoccupied with Natasha.

"I know the Tower's big for three people," Pepper said, disengaging from Tony's embrace; Bruce thought he might have actually heard him whimper, "but what do you mean, you don't see much of Natasha?"

"She's invisible," replied Tony. He sauntered up to Bruce's desk and perched on the edge of it, a pile of notes crinkling as he sat on them. "That's what my fellow happy scientist and I have been up to. We invented an invisibility serum, so we literally don't see Natasha."

Again, Pepper looked to Bruce for a real answer.

"It's not that we don't _ever_ see her," he said, taking off his glasses to wipe a smudge with the corner of his lab coat. "Usually I bump into her in the kitchen at breakfast."

"Really?" said Tony. "I never do."

"That's because breakfast is the meal before noon, Tony," Pepper said.

"I always thought that was brunch."

"Mostly she keeps to herself," Bruce went on. "She's on her computer a lot. Reading the news."

"That's what she wants you to think," said Tony. "Really she's on Tumblr, keeping tabs on the Hawkeye fanbase. Which reminds me, I'm weirdly unpopular on that site."

"Is it _really_ weird, though, for a fifty year old arms dealer not to be popular with teenage social justice warriors?" Bruce mused as Tony leaned over him and commandeered the computer.

" _Pushing_ fifty, and hell yeah, dealing arms-right into wormholes. How's _that_ for social justice?"

"Really, Bruce," said Pepper, "the fact that you've lived with him for two years and haven't…you know…"

"I believe the term is _hulked out_ ," said Tony, ever helpful even while perusing social media.

Pepper's cheeks were tinged pink. "It's beyond impressive."

"Thanks," said Bruce, combing his fingers through his hair and tugging. Moving swiftly right along from the reference to the Other Guy, he said, "Natasha spends a lot of time in the gym, too."

"Maybe I'll ask if I can be her workout buddy while I'm in town. I could use some advice with my routine. I'm in a rut."

"Honey, I can totally advise you about your routine. Be _my_ workout buddy."

"Aw, Tony, of course you can work out with me," said Pepper, heels clicking on the tile floor of the lab as she came to stand in front of him.

Bruce grabbed his keyboard back as Tony, still sitting on the edge of the desk, hooked her around the waist to draw her between his knees. Out the corner of his eye, Bruce saw Pepper trail her fingers down Tony's chest, then poke him in the stomach.

"He's been ordering from that shawarma place every day, hasn't he, Bruce?"

"I…" Bruce darted his eyes from Pepper, who stared at him from beneath an arched eyebrow, to Tony, who glared at him from beneath a furrowed one. He pushed his glasses up from where they'd slipped down the bridge of his nose, then placed them on the keyboard. "Sorry, but if I answer that question, I might hulk out."

* * *

For two weeks now, Natasha had been living in Avengers Tower with Tony and Bruce, and she could already distinguish between their knocks. Not that super spy skills were necessary for that. Tony preferred _shave and a haircut_ -when he could be bothered to knock-and took it as a personal insult if she didn't answer with _two bits_ , which of course she never did. Bruce's, on the other hand, was barely audible over the click of the laptop keys beneath her fingers, and usually followed by the sound of him clearing his throat, as though he were embarrassed to bother her.

This knock belonged to neither man: three sharp raps, confident and to-the-point. Maria Hill would've been a good guess, if she weren't in Washington for a public hearing which Natasha spent most of the day watching. A shame, because she'd found some potential HYDRA connections while studying the leaked files, and would love to float them by Hill. It would have to wait till she got back to New York.

Typing the sentence she was in the middle of to its conclusion, Natasha saved her work, minimized the window, and called out, "Door's open."

Swiveling in her desk chair, she contained her surprise to see the CEO of Stark Industries. No one told her Pepper was expected. Or maybe someone had-Bruce, at breakfast?-and she'd been too preoccupied to notice. An alarming prospect, confirming her fears that a sabbatical would make her rusty. To her relief, Pepper said it was a last-minute trip after she found herself unexpectedly free. She hadn't even told Tony till the plane landed.

"I thought he'd drive you and Bruce crazy if he knew I was coming in advance."

"As opposed to the rest of the time," Natasha deadpanned, getting up, the soles of her bare feet scuffing on the tile as she approached the other woman, "when he doesn't drive anyone at all crazy."

She arched an eyebrow, and Pepper's eyes glimmered conspiratorially from beneath her wispy bangs.

"I'm glad you're here now, so Bruce has someone to commiserate with. People who've worked closely with Tony Stark. It could be a support group."

"Or, he could just blame me for recruiting him to this circus in the first place."

Natasha's shoulders tensed at the reference to Bruce. Although his initial wariness of her was justifiable, given the revelations about her past, she'd hoped time would make him more comfortable with her, like Steve and Clint. She gave him time and space, but he continued to keep his distance, interacting with her only if they happened to be in the same place or the same time. You couldn't win 'em all, she guessed.

She rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension. Pepper watched; if she suspected there was a reason for it other than sitting too long hunched over a laptop at a small desk, there wasn't any indication of it as she came further into the room, circling it as if to inspect its contents.

"I think he's too much in scientist heaven to resent you for that. Even though I think Tony flirts with him even more than he did with you. Maybe you can give Bruce tips on how to shut that down."

"Or maybe he likes it. Jealous?"

Pepper gave the bland smile perfected by years of putting up with Tony, then leaned over the desk to get a closer look at the papers hanging on the magnetic bulletin board above it.

"Tony will be jealous of these, if he sees them. Are they from little Black Widow fans?"

She was referring to the drawings Cooper and Lila made for her during her brief stay at the Barton farm: stick children hugging or holding hands with stick Natasha…stick Black Widow and stick Hawkeye fighting stick Chitauri…pages ripped out of Avengers coloring books. Natasha was relieved Pepper apparently thought she had a valid reason to be in possession of children's artwork other than it having been made by her best friend's secret children.

"He's really bothered Iron Man doesn't do well with the teen girl demographic," said Pepper.

"I told him to stay off Tumblr," Natasha replied. "But come on, Cap and Thor? I know who I'd have been all over as a teenager."

Actually, as a teenager, she'd probably have used their faces for target practice in the Red Room.

"Don't sell yourself short." Pepper thankfully drew her back from that dark turn her thoughts had taken. "I bet more than a few teen girls are crushing on Black Widow. Or you're their first feminist role model."

She reached out to gently unroll the edge of one of the coloring book pages, where it had curled inward on itself. It was one of Cooper's, with no consideration for the lines or Black Widow's preferred color scheme, her suit suspiciously red, white, and blue. He'd presented it to her with mischief in his eyes-Clint's eyes-and she'd caught him in a headlock and given him a noogie. "Is this your way of telling me Cap's your favorite?"

Clint, watching the whole thing, said he was the one who should be most offended: "My own kid only ranks me third? Jesus, what do I have to do to get a little appreciation around here?"

Cooper replied that Hulk was actually first, then Cap, then Thor, then Iron Man. "You just have arrows, Dad. Arrows aren't very cool."

"You should have these framed, display them properly." Pepper straightened up, looked around the room again, eyes raking over the bare walls. "Just because this used to be _Stark_ Tower doesn't mean that's a proscribed style of décor, you know. Feel free to do what you want with it."

"As you can see, my aesthetic is crayon on construction paper," Natasha replied. "I wasn't sure if this was like a dorm. Will I get fined at the end of the semester for putting holes in the walls?"

Although Pepper acknowledged the joke with a smile, she responded seriously. "That could be a long way off, couldn't it? The government hasn't exactly set a precedent for swift investigations."

Natasha couldn't argue with that point. And even when the hearings ended, HYDRA still posed a serious threat to anyone associated with SHIELD so long as the cells continued to operate and grow.

"That reminds me," Pepper said, "did you catch any of Maria's testimony today? I wanted to, but I had to be on the phone the whole time I was traveling."

Natasha ground her teeth. "It wasn't a testimony so much as an excuse for Colonel Talbot and General Ross to publicly chastise her."

"That's what I was afraid of, when I heard Ross was involved."

"He's a sick idiot," Natasha replied, thinking grimly that maybe sharing that opinion with Bruce would win him over a little. "Talbot's sincere, but also an idiot."

They grilled Maria for hours with questions that had no ready answers. Who was going to pay for the destruction in in DC, since SHIELD no longer existed, thus no longer carried an insurance policy? Was it fair to expect the citizens if the district to foot the bill for an organization that had been infiltrated by former Nazis? How, by the way, had the most elite special agents in the world allowed a breach of this magnitude? Then again, at least one of these agents was a former KGB spy, so should anyone be surprised to discover the whole place was infested with traitors and double agents?

"Do you anticipate being summoned again?" asked Pepper. "In any case, you should definitely consult with a lawyer, if only to put your mind at ease."

She pulled her phone from her pocket and began to text; the phone on Natasha's desk simultaneously buzzed as her computer chimed an email alert.

"That's his contact info," Pepper said. "He's gotten Tony out of…Well, I don't have to tell you what he's gotten Tony out of." She smirked. "Clearly, that makes him the best."

"And he's Maria's guy, right? I'll take that as a ringing endorsement."

On her way out, Pepper paused in the doorway. "I hope this is all settled quickly so you can get back out on your own and get back to work. But really, Natasha, however long you stay, make yourself at home. No offence, but with you six in this place, I don't think artwork's going to be responsible for the most holes in the walls."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your positive response to chapter one! Your kind words definitely inspired me as I worked on chapter two all week. I hope you hade as much fun reading it as I did writing it…and that you'll let me know. ;) Chapter three's well under way, so I should have another update next week. I'll try to stick with a Sunday posting schedule as much as possible. As usual, many thanks to my awesome beta reader, vladnyrki, who helps me sound like I know what I'm talking about in the MCU.


	3. What Are You Afraid Of?

The lights were off, except for the flickering glow from the TV which spilled into the hall as Natasha approached the common room. Laptop in hand, she padded quietly toward to the doorway, the bare soles of her feet making only the faintest scuffing sound as they stuck to the cold stone tile. Peeking into the spacious room, she saw Pepper curled up on the sectional sofa, alone, wrapped in a blanket, a large bowl in her lap. A black and white movie played on the TV, illuminating her laughing face as she munched what was, presumably, popcorn.

Kind of weird, wasn't it, for Pepper to watch a movie in the Avengers' part of the Tower, instead of upstairs in the penthouse? No sooner had the thought flickered through her mind than she caught a glare from the corner of the room, the light from the TV reflecting off the eyeglasses worn by someone sitting in the leather club chair. It could only be Bruce. And it answered the question about why Pepper was watching TV down here.

Natasha pivoted to go, when Pepper called her back. The movie dialogue went abruptly silent as she paused it, and a light flicked on.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Natasha apologized, adding when she saw that Bruce had knocked over a bowl of popcorn in the process of turning on the lamp beside his chair, "Or to startle you."

It was a struggle not to laugh at his sheepish expression, not terribly different from the one he wore when he showed up halfway through the Battle of New York in ill-fitting clothes. She didn't entirely succeed, cracking a smile which made him break eye contact to get up from his chair, stumbling a little over the ottoman as he got tripped up by the throw blanket tangled around his legs.

"You're not interrupting," Pepper said. "Tony passed out, but it always takes me a few days to adjust to New York time, so Bruce and I have this little tradition of watching old movies together."

Bruce obviously was used to the time zone, so what was his excuse? Night owl? Or maybe he slept badly. Natasha was intimately acquainted with that condition.

"That's brave of you, Doc," she said. "Knowing what a jealous type Stark is."

Crouched on the floor to pick up kernels of popcorn from under the chair and the crack between the cushion and the arm, Bruce looked up at her. "It's a risk I have to take, if I'm ever going to watch a movie without his running commentary."

Natasha smiled, not so much in appreciation of what an annoying personality quirk this was, as simply because Bruce's initial awkwardness had passed enough for him to joke with her.

Or at least it seemed to have passed-until her gaze lingered a little too long on his uncharacteristically relaxed appearance: shirttails untucked, feet bare, curls more unruly than usual from leaning against the back of the chair. He quickly returned his gaze to the floor in search of errant popcorn.

"Well," Natasha said, clutching her laptop, "since you've escaped Mystery Science Theater, I won't keep you from your movie."

Natasha started to go again-she'd only come up in the first place to watch the news on the big screen while she did a little more work-but once more Pepper drew her back.

"Do you want to watch with us? We're only a few minutes in, and there's plenty of popcorn."

"Or there was, till Bruce decided to share his with the floor?"

"Thirty second rule, right?" he darted a sideways glance at her as he rose with his bowl.

Natasha hadn't meant to embarrass him-not that it was difficult to do-and his potential discomfort made her hesitate to accept the invitation.

"I've got some work left to do before I turn in." She indicated her laptop.

"No working on Friday nights," Bruce said, voice even, sounding as sure as he ever did. "Pepper's rules."

For a moment Natasha watched him resume his seat, tugging the chenille throw over his feet on the ottoman before settling back in his chair, then she placed her laptop on a console table.

"In that case I'd be a fool not to comply."

That, and she realized she didn't want to be confined to her room after holing up there most of the day. She seated herself at the end of the sectional sofa, between Pepper and Bruce's chair, reaching for a handful of popcorn from his bowl.

"That was on the floor…"

"Thirty second rule," she echoed his earlier remark. Lifting an eyebrow, she added, "Unless you're worried about catching my girl cooties?"

"No, I…" Bruce went red in the face, but suddenly he gave one of his short chuckles and combed his fingers through his hair. "So glad you think I have the maturity of a third grader."

"That's what happens when you spend a lot of time with Tony," Pepper said, resuming the movie.

"What are we watching?" Natasha asked.

It was _Bringing Up Baby_. She hadn't seen it before and probably wouldn't have watched it on her own, neither classic cinema nor screwball comedies being her thing. Or so she thought. Maybe it was because Bruce and Pepper's laughter was contagious, or maybe she was more tired than she realized, but she found herself laughing at the ridiculous plot along with them. It didn't hurt that Cary Grant was easy on the eyes. Her mind and body relaxed for what felt like the first time since she'd picked up Steve in DC, until their laughter faded into the background, and so did the movie.

"Hey!"

She startled upright, eyes snapping open, throwing off the weight of a blanket that she didn't remember covering up with. Bruce was blinking hard in the direction of the doorway, and she turned that way herself, Pepper raising her head from the arm of the sofa.

Tony glowered at them from the doorway, in his underwear.

"You guys are having a slumber party and didn't invite me?"

* * *

Although Natasha conceded to not doing any work on Friday night, she made no promise to skip her Saturday work _out_. It didn't hurt that she'd actually fallen asleep at an hour no one, least of all any of her colleagues-with the exception of maybe Steve-would describe as _ungodly_. Unlike the hour at which Pepper joined her in the gym.

Hair pulled back in a ponytail, she wore grey leggings and a lavender sports bra that matched her sneakers. Her perky _good morning_ echoed through the space, but Natasha didn't reply until the other woman seated herself across from her on the mats where she was in the midst of her own warm-up routine.

"I thought you still had to adjust from Pacific Time. Isn't it like 4AM to you?"

Drawing her feet together for butterfly stretches, Pepper replied, "There's not a lot of point in adjusting when Tony and I are headed to Portland tomorrow."

"What's in Portland?" Natasha asked as she stood, rocking onto the balls of her feet as she reached her arms over her head, then slowly rolled her shoulders downward. "Romantic getaway?"

"We're going to hear the Philharmonic. Do you remember Audrey Nathan?"

"Coulson's girlfriend? The cellist?" Natasha hadn't thought about her in years, though she remembered seeing Audrey at the funeral as if it were yesterday. Her devastation had been striking.

"It's been a long healing process for her," Pepper went on, "and SHIELD's fall was pretty triggering. We thought we'd go see her."

"That's kind of you," Natasha said, making a mental note to look deeper into this later, as Pepper didn't seem inclined to speak more about it.

Bending one arm at the elbow, she pressed against the joint as she stretched her arm across her body. Her shoulder ached enough for her to grimace, but she didn't let up until she noticed Pepper watching, forehead scrunched beneath her bangs in an expression of concern. Turning away, Natasha went to the pull-up bar, hopped and caught it easily in her gloved hands.

As she began her first set, Pepper continued stretching-and the conversation. "Do you prefer to work out alone? I try to take advantage of the gym here whenever I'm in town, but if I'm in your way I can come back later."

"Are you kidding?" Natasha grunted out.

The gym occupied an entire floor of Avengers Tower, so it was more space than she was used to at SHIELD headquarters, which she'd never had to herself, agents coming and going at all hours of the day as their shifts allowed. Sometimes Maria joined her, and as they sparred together, Natasha forgot for a little while where they were, and that they were here because their world collapsed like a house of cards.

"Knock yourself out," she said. "Train like an Avenger."

Pepper smirked as she went to the weight rack and picked up a pair of dumbbells. "I could be wrong, but I haven't gotten the impression that a lot of Avenger training actually happens here. Except you, of course."

"Tony works out," Natasha replied, out of a sense of solidarity for a fellow Avenger; however, her sense of solidarity for a fellow woman compelled her to add, "Occasionally. Not as much as he should."

The conversation lapsed briefly as Pepper started to do lunges up the length of the room, but she picked it up again as she reached the pull-up bar, where Natasha paused between sets to take a drink.

"You were shot, weren't you? By the Winter Soldier?"

_By Bucky Barnes._ Made by HYDRA into a killer more monstrous than she.

Through her teeth, Natasha gritted out, "Twice."

"I hope you're not overdoing it. Bruce says you spend a lot of time in here."

Banner paid attention to how she spent her time? Made sense, if he didn't trust her. Placing her water bottle on the floor, she jumped up for another round of pull-ups.

"Sorry," Pepper said, "I don't mean to be a mother hen. Force of habit, with Tony. You save-the-world types have a tendency not to take very good care of yourselves afterward."

"Valid point," Natasha conceded, and released the bar.

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do." Pepper bent to set down her dumbbells, and approached her. "Just…it's okay to rest. To take it easy. Hell, take a vacation, if you want, no one is more entitled. You're welcome in Malibu any time, you know."

A grin cracked as Natasha remembered showing Steve the old scar in her side. _Bye-bye bikinis,_ she'd said, and hereplied, _Yeah, I bet you look terrible in them now_.

"Tempting as that is," she said, "beach party with America's most notorious billionaire doesn't exactly fit with the plan to lay low."

"Who said anything about Tony? If we ditch him in the lab with Bruce, they'll never know we're gone."

Natasha almost said yes on the spot just to see how long it would take them to discover she'd left the tower. The humor of the idea was undercut by the thought which immediately followed, that Bruce would probably be relieved.

"Honestly," she said, "I'm not sure I know how to take a vacation. Pathetic, right?"

"Between you and Maria, I'm kind of getting the idea personal time wasn't a big part of SHIELD operations. Terrible HR."

"Yet you hired her for exactly that job."

They went back to their respective workouts. Mindful of Pepper's watchful eye, Natasha modified her usual morning routine to give her shoulder a rest. When she went to the punching bag to practice kickboxing, Pepper abandoned the weights and asked for a few pointers. By the time they'd finished, Natasha's sweat-wicking top had long since ceased to perform that function, and she was surprised when she glanced at the clock above the door and saw more than an hour had gone by since she'd thought about SHIELD and the hearings and her own quest for redemption.

"Can we do this again tomorrow before I fly out to Portland?" Pepper asked.

"On Sunday mornings I go to church."

Pepper blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered her poise. "Russian Orthodox?"

Natasha smirked, but she was aware the way for a former spy to win friends probably wasn't to try to pull one over on the unsuspecting. "Believe it or not, the Black Widow program didn't include a lot of religious instruction. Steve's your man for keeping the Sabbath holy."

"And that's why he's Captain America," said Pepper with a laugh.

"You keep training in the Avengers' gym, and I'm going to recruit you for the team. I hear you're a natural in the suit."

"Much as I agree that the Avengers could do with a little more female representation, I think I'm more cut out for corporate battles."

"Hey, we need women CEOs, too," Natasha said. "Aliens and former Nazis scare me far less than the people you go up against. Frankly I don't know how Maria made the transition to the private sector."

"You faked it well enough, back when you went undercover as Tony's assistant."

"The operative word being _faked_."

At the reference to her past, not the first one since Pepper arrived, Natasha decided it was time to address the proverbial elephant.

"Not many civilians would volunteer to kickbox with someone who's done what I've done."

_Not many of the Avengers, either_ , she thought. Only Steve, but he was off chasing his own past.

"I'm not afraid of you, Natasha, if that's what you're asking."

Pepper's clear-sightedness, and her habit of not beating around the bush, were breath-taking.

"Why not?" Natasha asked.

With a slight, sad smile and a shrug, Pepper replied, "Extremis."

* * *

"So the Widow finally crawled out of her lair."

Absorbed in taking inventory of the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator, Bruce registered Tony's words belatedly, when he turned around and saw him standing in the middle of the kitchen.

"I'm not sure Natasha would appreciate-"

"Appreciation," Tony cut him off, wagging his index finger. "That's exactly what I'm talking about, Banner. You're always on my wavelength."

Bruce wasn't, nor was Tony on his, or he wouldn't be pouring himself a cup of coffee right now. For two years now, he'd been drinking decaf unaware. Stimulants of any kind, of course, were to be avoided when you were trying to keep your heart rate from ramping up, and it hadn't taken Bruce long to discover that Tony on caffeine was like a kid _off_ ADHD meds. Which, come to think of it…

"I offer Romanoff shelter and the best damn legal representation money can buy, and this is how she repays me? By luring my girlfriend away?"

"Is this about movie night?" Bruce bent over the island, where his notepad lay. He reached for a pen from his shirt pocket, but found none, then remembered he'd tucked it behind his ear. Where were his glasses? He squinted at the paper and jotted down the items that had been absent from the refrigerator. "Because that was Pepper's idea."

"This is about the early morning gym session. I had plans for a couples' workout."

Deciding it was wisest not to comment on that, Bruce said, "Maybe Pepper prefers Natasha's company."

"To mine?" Tony snorted into his mug as he came to stand on the opposite side of the island. " _You_ prefer my company, and we're not even dating."

"Is it that I have a preference for you, or that Natasha definitely doesn't have one for me?" Bruce mumbled as he added _cauliflower_ to his list, but Tony didn't acknowledge that he'd heard him.

"Maybe Pepper's trying to make a point about how much time I spend with-Wait, were you just being self-deprecating?"

Bruce reached up to scratch his head, and found his glasses perched there. "When am I not?" he said, settling them on the bridge of his nose.

"You think Natasha doesn't like you?"

For some reason Tony's incredulity made Bruce even more self-conscious than talking about a colleague's less-than-favorable opinion of him did.

"Come on, Tony," he said, turning to open the pantry, "you've seen how she is around me. Maybe she doesn't dislike me, but she's definitely not comfortable. Justifiably so. Or did you forget the Other Guy tried to kill her on the Helicarrier?"

"A lot of people have tried to kill her since then, and she's not curling up right next to them and falling asleep."

"It wasn't exactly _right next to_ me. She was one the couch, I was in the chair."

"Semantics. Even your old nemesis General Ross seems preoccupied by Black Widow at the moment."

Whiplash was not an unusual feeling for Bruce during conversations with Tony, but he nevertheless faltered at the reference to Ross, dropped so glibly. He watched the news, of course, heard the sound bites of the general questioning the integrity of SHIELD when they'd harbored former Soviet spies like Natasha Romanoff.

"Are you saying the enemy of my enemy is my friend? Not exactly the best foundation for a lasting relationship."

"I'm saying I read her files, and she's way scarier than you. Look at you, what are you doing?"

Bruce closed the pantry and turned to see that Tony had sidled around the island and picked up the notepad. He sprang to make a grab for it, but Tony elbowed him away.

"What are you, a teenager hiding her diary?" He scanned the paper. "See, I knew you were up to something totally un-scary. Writing a grocery list, with an old-fashioned pen and pepper?"

"Pepper asked me to cook tonight. Indian."

"Oh, wait. This _is_ actually frightening. Nightmarish, in fact. There's no _meat_."

"There's tofu."

"Damn it, Banner, why did you have to tell her about the shawarma?" Tony slammed the notebook on the counter. "We're going to Portland and she's not going to let me eat enjoy the food scene."

Gripping the mug, he stalked toward the doorway, while Bruce tried not to smirk at his secret about the coffee.

"I'm sure if anywhere has great vegetarian food, it's Portland," he said, but as usual, Tony ignored any attempt to help him see reason.

"Anyway, I'm not going to be here to protect you for a few days, so I just want to say: don't let her spin a web for you, my friend."

"Wait, are we talking about Pepper, or Natasha?"

"Don't be cute, either," Tony replied, not glancing back as he strode down the hall.

"I'm not being cute," Bruce said as he stood alone in the kitchen. "Just confused."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm so grateful for each and every kind word and comment and kudo that has been left so far on this fic, and I hope you'll continue to let me know what you think about the story. It's a joy to share this fic with fans who love these characters as much as I do. There hasn't been much one-on-one with Bruce and Natasha, but I promise, it's coming soon! And Tony will be in Portland where he can't interrupt in his underwear. (Although I personally don't find much objectionable about Tony in his underwear... ;))


	4. Back To Normal

"You've been holding out on me, Banner."

He'd just taken a bite of biryani when Natasha spoke to him. It was so _typical_ that when she finally struck up conversation after weeks of keeping out of his way, he could only blink at her like a dork with his mouth full. This always happened to him when he ate out, too; waiters inevitably approached his table just as he took a bite and had to stand there waiting for him to finish. With his past decade of Hulk-related embarrassments, he shouldn't feel self-conscious about people watching him chew, of all things. But his life defied logic.

Mercifully, Natasha swung her gaze down to her own plate as she speared a cauliflower floret and cashew together. "I've been living off whatever takeout you two order since I moved in, assuming that's how things roll in Avengers Tower-"

"What?" Tony asked Pepper; she'd made a sound that wasn't quite a cough at the word _takeout_. "Why are you looking at _me_? Bruce is an equal part in this problem. You could even call him my enabler."

"Or you could not," Bruce muttered.

"And _you_." Tony pointed his fork at Natasha, who eyed him tolerantly from beneath an arched brow as she swirled her cauliflower in the gravy on her plate. "You assumedthe Tower was the world's tallest bachelor pad. I'm wounded by your stereotyping. Aren't you, Bruce?"

Bruce was chewing again, and shrugged at Natasha as he swallowed. "Not really."

The corner of her mouth quirked upward, briefly. "I assumed more nutty professor."

"Jerry Lewis or Eddie Murphy?" Tony asked, and Bruce could only shake his head as he reached for his glass of rosé the speed at which Tony's brain could shift gears. "Because if you're talking about the Eddie Murphy version, then I'm frankly _insulted_ by your opinion of our science."

"My opinion of your science is that you're so absorbed in it that you forget to eat."

"Oh," said Tony, his faux outrage dissipating as he leaned back in his chair, "then you mean more absent-minded professor than nutty. _Hmm._ " His eyes rolled upward, and he scuffed a hand over his chin. _"_ Tough. The remake is terrible, but Robin Williams..."

"Robin Williams had nothing on Fred MacMurray," Bruce said.

Across the table, Pepper nodded in vigorous agreement as she lowered her wine glass. " _Mmm_. They don't make comedy actors like they used to. That old Hollywood debonair…"

"That's definitely who she means," said Tony, draping his arm across the back of Pepper's chair as he picked up his wine glass with the other hand.

"For someone so insistent he's not a stereotypical bachelor," she said, "you're referencing a lot of movies."

"Not a _lot_ ," Tony argued. "Just two. And their remakes."

Natasha exchanged an eye-roll with Pepper across the table, then turned again to Bruce. "What I'm trying to sayis…You're a good cook, Bruce."

It was nothing short of miraculous that he didn't have food in his mouth this time, although he still felt a prickle inside his collar as he thanked her.

"And you're right, I do get absorbed in my work and lose track of time. I used to…"

He trailed off. He used to cook for Betty, he'd been about to say. She'd come to the lab or his office at Culver, long past hours, not to remind him that _he_ needed to eat, but that _she_ was hungry, so could he go home and make dinner already?

In the midst of the daydream, he suddenly he became aware that there were three pairs of eyes on him, waiting for him to continue. Avoiding looking at Tony, who probably had a pretty good idea of where his mind had wandered, Bruce turned toward Natasha and smiled slightly.

"I used to cook all the time," he said. "I enjoy it. What about you?"

Although Natasha must be nearly impossible to surprise, she didn't look as though that was a question she'd been expecting. "Oh, I-"

"Are _you_ stereotyping now, Bruce?" Tony interrupted. "Because I'm offended on Natasha's behalf that you would even insinuate that a woman's place is in the kitchen."

"That's not at all what I-"

"Do they even teach culinary arts at spy school, Romanoff?"

"Tony…" Pepper said in a warning tone, but Tony was seldom one for heeding warnings.

"In Soviet Russia, food eat you. _Ow_!" He turned to Pepper, who'd kicked him under the table. "You can't be saying you've never heard Soviet Russia jokes before. They're the best genre-"

"I can find my way around the kitchen," Natasha replied. "I've had to for a few undercover jobs."

Her gaze held Bruce's, as though she were waiting for him to respond. Something in her expression indicated there was a right answer and a wrong one. The heat in his collar crept up the back of his neck, and his fingers toyed with the end of his fork where it lay on the table as he fought the urge to reach up and tug at his hair. How could he answer correctly when he wasn't even sure what the question was?

"So I guess that means if we ever see you cooking, we know you're up to something?"

The joke went down like a lead balloon. Why Bruce expected it to do otherwise, he couldn't say; no one ever really did laugh at his jokes, except for Tony, though rarely for the reason he was supposed to. Pepper, always charitable, mustered a weak smile for him, but Natasha silently resumed eating. Bruce picked up his fork, too, but only pushed the basmati around his plate, wracking his brain for something that would relieve the tension he'd unintentionally created before Tony said something even more offensive.

Thankfully, Pepper was as adroit in social settings as he was awkward.

"I was thinking about the conversation we had earlier, Natasha. If you really need something to do while you're staying at the Tower, I'm sure Maria can find something suitable. She'll be back in Monday morning. That is, if the private sector's more appealing than boredom."

Even though it had been a total change of subject, Bruce let out a relieved breath when he heard the soft puff of a chuckle beside him, and saw Natasha's drawn lips relax into her lopsided smirk.

"Talk about a choice between the lesser of two evils."

"Wait, you're _bored_?" Tony said. "That's unacceptable. I can come up with so many things right now you could do."

Natasha glanced sideways at Bruce. "This should be interesting."

"Not necessarily the word I'd chose," he replied, and her grin pulled a little wider.

"With me out of town," Tony said, "Bruce'll be all alone in the lab."

"Maybe I'll actually get some of my own work done for once, instead of being dragged into your hair-brained schemes."

"Yeah, kicking and screaming," Tony deadpanned, and Bruce had to laugh at himself. "Anyway, I worry about his social skills. So, I'm thinking you could be his assistant. Excuse me-his _lovely_ assistant."

Bruce's cheekbones burned.

"That makes him sound like a magician," said Pepper.

"A lot of people have tried sawing me in half," Natasha replied. "No one ever succeeded."

This joke got the laugh his earlier one had not, but Bruce's chuckle was short-lived as the reminder of her grim line of work turned his thoughts to other dangers she'd faced. Did she mean to remind him about the Helicarrier? He knew Tony intended no real harm with the mad scientist jokes-God knew Bruce made them often enough himself-but he was desperate to deflect the attention from himself.

"There is one thing I could use a little assistance with right now," he blurted out.

"Oh?" she asked, picking up her wine.

Her cool demeanor made him feel suddenly foolish. He pressed ahead, cringing a little. "The dishes?"

Was it his imagination, or did he glimpse a slight smile before her lips touched the rim of the glass? "I did say I know my way around the kitchen."

* * *

After the meal, Natasha immediately began to clear the table, stacking the dinner plates and piling the silverware on top of them. Bruce scrambled to follow, collecting the wine glasses two in each hand and contemplating the wisdom of taking another sip from his own, which he'd barely drunk.

"This isn't what I expected," came Natasha's voice from the kitchen.

He stepped through the doorway to see her staring at a kitchen disaster straight from a bad comedy: pots and pans, mixing bowls and utensils were piled up in the sink and on countertops and the stove.

"No wonder you wanted help." She turned from the mess with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, about that…" Bruce actually hadn't been aware of the extent till now; his mind tended to wander when he cooked.. "It was a joke, kind of. To get Tony off your back."

Her eyebrow hitched a little higher. Skeptical, and rightly so.

"You really don't have to help," he said.

"No, I really do." Natasha's heels clicked on the slate tile as she strode to the counter. She placed her dishes on it and turned on the tap, water drumming full blast against the stainless steel sink. "What kind of teammate would I be if I made you cook _and_ clean up all by yourself?"

"So this is an Avenger thing?" Bruce stepped toward the counter; finding a space for all four glasses presented something of a challenge. "Seems a little anticlimactic after the Chitauri."

"Not to sound like a broken record, but…this is kind of an epic mess. Your lab is always so tidy."

"Now you know my secret."

"You're sometimes messy." The silverware clanked as she dropped it unceremoniously into the sink, then took the top plate from the stack to rinse off gravy and clinging grains of basmati.

"It's not just the Other Guy." Bruce watched her face for a reaction to this, testing her as she'd tested him earlier.

"Would you mind…?"

Natasha gestured for him to move, and Bruce shuffled back from her, heat prickling on his face until he realized he'd been standing in front of the dishwasher. He stood stupidly for a moment, tugging at his hair as he watched her put a plate on the bottom rack, then he pivoted back to the counter as she finished rinsing a second one.

"Here, I can at least load." He reached for the plate, but Natasha maintained a firm grip on it.

"Depends on how you load a dishwasher. Do you just cram everything in haphazardly?"

Her eyes left his to sweep the room, a smile slowly spreading as her gaze met his again.

Bruce couldn't help but return it. "No, I use a good Tetris technique."

"Okay then." Natasha relinquished the plate to him and picked up another. "Although I could kick your ass at Tetris, Banner."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Romanoff."

"In Soviet Russia Tetris play you."

She slipped into an accent, and Bruce laughed.

"Is that the plan for while Tony's out of town, then?" he asked. "Tetris challenge?" Tony would be delighted if it was. Or disgruntled that they did it without him.

"Oh there would be no challenge. Didn't I make that clear?"

The humorous moment passed, for the next several minutes the only sounds those of the trickle of water as Natasha rinsed the dinner plates and silverware, the clinks as Bruce loaded them into the dishwasher. By the time she filled the sink with soapy water to wash the wine glasses and cookware, he began to feel that the persistent silence was an awkward one.

He raised the dishwasher door, fiddling with the controls as he cast about for something to say. Would it be prying to ask what she did plan to do this week? Had too long had elapsed since they joked about what they would do in Tony's absence for the topic to still be relevant? He considered his friend's earlier advice-if you could call it that-about how things stood between him and Natasha. _I hear you're on General Ross' shit list now. Welcome to the club!_ seemed like a bad conversation opener, even to Bruce.

"It's been nice having Pepper in town," Natasha said, pulling a dripping glass from the under the tap. "Want to dry?"

In his relief at being spared coming up with conversation, he snatched the glass too eagerly, only to discover he had no idea where in the mess the dish towel was.

"She's great, isn't she?" he replied absently, scanning the cluttered countertops for it.

"Looking for this?" Natasha held out the dishtowel, procured from he didn't see where. "Does she make it to New York often?"

"A couple times a month," he replied, buffing the glass. "When Tony's not in LA with her."

Which he was, frequently. He jetted back and forth, sometimes in one day. At first Bruce thought it was because of him, not wanting him to be alone in Avengers Tower. When he mentioned this, Tony accused him of being a narcissist. _I'm racking up these frequent flier miles for myself. Pepper's always in the office, and I hate being in the Malibu house alone_. Bruce suspected Tony made him play therapist in part to punish him for pointing out that you didn't earn skymiles when you traveled in your own plane.

He was about to ask about Natasha's friendship with Pepper, which clearly had a history, but she had another question.

"Or in Portland?"

"They have season tickets to the Philharmonic."

"Pepper told me. To be honest, Tony never exactly struck me as the classical music type." Her brow furrowed as she scrubbed gravy off the copper _handi_ he'd cooked the biryani in, but then she glanced up at him with eyes glimmering in amusement. "Guess I shouldn't judge a book by its Black Sabbath t-shirt?"

Bruce hesitated, sensing that beneath the seemingly innocuous questions, Natasha was, in fact, probing for information.

"The cello's an exception for him," came his careful reply.

"The cell _ist_ 's an exception for him."

Not careful enough. Then again, this could only have to do with Agent Coulson, and Bruce didn't exactly have an abundance of information to leak about him. SHIELD had been full of double agents. Maybe Natasha doubted where Coulson's true loyalties lay? Tony and Pepper certainly didn't.

"Some mornings I'll go into the lab and the Bach Cello Suites will be playing, and I know he's thinking about Agent Coulson. We do good work those days."

Natasha gave him an intent look, eyes narrowed just slightly, as though she were trying to get a read on him, although her lips curved in a soft expression.

"So classical's your jam?" she asked, handing him the pot. "Now that doesn't surprise me."

"Because I'm a nerd?"

"Because you seem like a guy with refined tastes."

Natasha submerged her hands into the sink of soapy water, and Bruce was glad she couldn't see him blush.

"One time Pepper couldn't make it to a concert. Tony still wanted to go, so he invited me. I'd never heard Vaughan Williams' _Dark Pastorale_ live before," Bruce added, as if he needed to explain going to a concert with Tony. "The next day-"

"Is _that_ how the tabloids got the idea that Iron Man was having an affair with the Hulk? I remember the headlines."

"I wish you'd forget," Bruce said.

" _Iron Man's Heart Melted by Incredible Hunk_?"

"Please, stop, no more."

Natasha smirked, but mercifully said, "Okay. That was my favorite, anyway."

"Actually the paparazzi aren't totally wrong," Bruce said when his embarrassment ebbed enough to resume their conversation. "I mean, about me they are, but Tony...he's a big softie. He looks after Ms. Nathan. Audrey. The cellist."

"That's kind of him. I didn't think he and Coulson were on especially friendly terms."

"Are Tony's terms of friendship necessarily the same as anyone else's?"

Natasha gave a snort of laughter at that, but she soon became serious again. "I also didn't know Coulson and the cellist were that serious. Pepper said she's still having a rough time?"

Again, Bruce had the sense that this was more than merely a polite inquiry. "Yeah. I think so. I mean, I don't really know her, and I barely met Agent Coulson before…" _Before you were all so busy fending off a Hulk attack that Coulson was left alone with Loki._

"Of course."

There was a finality to Natasha's tone, but as she scrubbed a skillet, Bruce sensed she was far from thinking about the subject. Waiting for her to hand him the pan, he twisted the dish towel in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for. Everything associated with the events on the Helicarrier, maybe. "You and Agent Coulson worked closely together...it must be difficult to have the past dredged up again when you've begun to move on from it."

Natasha looked up at him, her face a study. Had she even heard him?

"Attachments are messy for people like us."

Like Agents of SHIELD? Like Avengers? Like her and him? Whether she meant him or not, he could relate.

The skillet thunked against the bottom of the sink, disappearing beneath the suds.

"That's going to have to soak." Natasha dried her hands on the dishtowel. "I'll come back to it later."

"Hey," Bruce said, following her out of the kitchen. "While you're waiting, you wouldn't want to finish the movie, would you?"

The instant the question left his mouth, he regretted asking it.

"Rain check?" Natasha said. "I've got some stuff to do right now."

Bruce knew that would be her answer would. He'd seen that look of focus and determination on her face before, on the job. Their conversation had its playful moments, but Natasha was at work now. You could take the agent out of SHIELD, but not the agent out of the woman. Or something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This week got busy and I didn't have as much fanfic time as I wanted. I was afraid I wouldn't have a new chapter ready for you today, but your lovely responses to chapter three really inspired me. That, and my awesome beta vladnyrki helped me make up my mind not to include a third planned scene in this chapter, which wrapped things up sooner. ;) Thanks to all of you! Hope you enjoyed the promised one-on-one time for Bruce and Natasha. And do let me know if you did.


	5. Job Interviews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter utilizes events and characters from _Marvel's Agents of SHIELD_ and contains minor spoilers for the show. I've tried to make the plot clear for those of you who don't watch, and I'm sorry if you don't and were trying to stay unspoiled. I felt it was necessary to deal with those events and explore how they might impact Natasha's identity. Also, I forgot to mention it back in Chapter 3, but the reference to _Bringing Up Baby_ was inspired by a stunning [photoshoot](http://khaleesa.tumblr.com/post/116583983305/scarlett-johansson-and-mark-ruffalo-by-mario) Scarlett Johansson and Mark Ruffalo did for _Vogue_ re-enacting the film. I just couldn't resist a little nod to it, given the little old Hollywood roleplay Bruce and Natasha do in _Age of Ultron_. As always, thanks to my beta, vladnyrki, and to everyone who is following this story and has expressed such enthusiasm for it. It's a pleasure to share the BruceNat love.  <3

"Weird question for you," Natasha sad almost the instant the call connected, before the video synced up to the audio. "Got a sec?"

"Shoot."

At the appearance of Clint's face on her laptop screen, the pull of a grin was instantaneous.

"That's _your_ specialty," she said, leaning back in her chair, swiveling to prop her feet on the corner of the desk.

" _Was_. Believe me, after a month in this funny farm, my ability to answer weird questions surpasses my marksmanship."

He was sitting at the kitchen table, back to the living room doorway. She could make out the TV faintly beneath the kids belting out an off-key rendition of _Let It Go._ Clint's hand moved out of the frame, reaching for something on the table, and returned with a beer. He took a swig.

"This morning Coop asked me why spiders run away when he farts."

"What'd you tell him?"

"To ask Aunt Nat."

"I'll say it's genetic." She waited till he raised the bottle for another drink, then added, "I run away when you fart, too."

"Amen," said Laura, passing behind Clint's chair. She paused to bend and wave at the webcam before going on to the living room to turn down the TV volume. The kids' noise level, on the other hand, remained the same.

"So…"

Clint crossed his arms over his chest, the sleeves of his plaid shirt rolled up to the elbows. He really did go all-out with the farmer thing, when he was at home. Though Natasha couldn't see the rest of him, she imagined his legs stretched out under the table, feet resting on the chair across from him. Sock feet; Laura didn't allow boots in the house.

"I'm guessing your weird question isn't about whether I have gas."

"It isn't about you at all." Natasha watched her fingernail trace the edge of the desktop, where the laminate joined. "It's about Coulson."

Looking up at the laptop screen again, she watched the subtle changes in Clint's demeanor: the flicker of muscle beneath his cheekbone, the inward curl of his fingers against his biceps, the dip of his Adam's apple into his open collar. It was rough losing a teammate, difficult not to blame yourself if they were taken down while you were out of commission, even for years afterward. She hated to do this this to Clint, especially now, when they were reeling from losing more.

To worse ways than death.

She drew a steadying breath and asked, "What do you remember about him and the cellist?"

"The cellist?"

"You know…in the orchestra. Big violin."

"I'm not a country bumpkin, Nat. I know what a cello is."

From nowhere, the image formed in her mind of Bruce blushing when she told him he had refined tastes.

"What are you grinning at?" Clint asked.

Natasha gave herself a little shake, glanced over his shoulder where she could see Lila twirling around the living room in her sparkly blue Elsa dress. "Just…when's the last time you heard music that's not from a Disney cartoon?"

Clint unfolded his arms, elbows leaning on the edge of the table, and cradles his temples between his palms. "I am never going to get that freaking song out of my head."

"Let it go, Clint."

Lowering his arms to rest on the table, he raised his head to look at her. "The cellist. Audrey Nathan."

Natasha slung her feet to the floor, swiveled back to her computer, resizing the video chat window so she could pull up the browser with half a dozen open tabs.

"She had a stalker," Clint went on. "Super-powered from some lab experiment gone wrong. How many times have we heard _that_ story?"

"And SHIELD sent a team to take him out?" Natasha opened a text document, and had to rearrange the windows on her screen. She needed to see about getting a second monitor.

"Headed by Coulson. I was on it." Clint picked up his beer. "Hell of an answer to _So how did you two meet?_ "

"Were they dating the whole time you were on the PEGASUS project?"

"I guess?"

"So it was serious?"

"You know Phil and me. We spent most of our evenings sharing bottle of wine and eating chocolate and gushing about how in love he was."

Natasha stopped typing and stared at him. Clint smirked around his beer.

"Honestly, Nat, I dunno. Coulson kept relationships pretty casual, and he didn't seem different with the cellist. It was mostly a long distance thing. Maybe he took more weekends off than usual? Oh, and he definitely texted her a lot. More than I text Laura."

" _That's_ the comparison you're going with? Really? You've taken days to answer texts."

"I'm talking lightning speed texting. Like it was his superpower." His grin faded as he stared into space.

"I remember seeing her at the funeral."

Natasha remembered, too. Remembered seeing the woman with long dark hair and delicate features and thinking she bore more than a slight resemblance to Laura. And how close Laura had come to being the woman so devastated she could barely stand beside a freshly dug grave.

"I guess it _was_ a lot more serious than I realized," Clint said, quietly.

"You know," said Natasha, "for an agent they call _Hawkeye,_ you really suck at reading other people's relationships."

The quip snapped him out of the brooding mood. "Maybe if all my friends weren't spies who are really good at hiding them. Or possibly I cracked one too many about Coulson's type being damsels in distress, and he decided I was a lousy confidant."

"That's why I never confide in you about my love life."

Although she expected him to comment on her _nonexistent_ love life, as he loved to do, Clint said, "You gonna confide in me about this?"

Natasha stared at her computer desktop, the news articles and her own brief typed notes which held so little information she might as well not have bothered.

"It may not be anything." She clicked the exit button, ignored the prompt to save the document. "It may just me reading things that aren't there because I'm bored."

"Well, I've been reading about Portland suburbs without unexplained power outages, so. It may not be."

"I'll let you know if anything comes up."

"I'll do the same. _Are_ you bored?" Clint asked. "How could that be, with the science bros for company?"

Laughing softly, Natasha couldn't help but think how when Tony accused her of being bored, she'd responded defensively, but with Clint, she didn't deny it.

"You know I got all that experience hanging with Selvig," he went on. "I can give you tips, teach you some catchphrases so you can pretend you know what the hell they're talking about."

"I may be the best spy in the world, but somehow I doubt even I can fake science for the leading expert in gamma radiation."

"Seriously." Clint caught her with the piercing gaze that earned him his code name. That saw more in her than a cold-blooded assassin. "You doing okay with the Big Guy?"

Natasha wanted to glance away, but forced herself to continue making eye contact.

"I'm good. He's keeping me well fed." She folded her arms across her chest. "Banner doesn't seem too great with the Widow."

"Well, maybe if you didn't talk about feeding. Or was that some kind of euphemism?"

"Yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "For vegetarian biryani."

"You know you can come back here, right? Any time."

"Home, home on the range…"

Now she let her gaze drift from her computer screen to the children's drawings which hung above, the only personal touch in the room, as Pepper pointed out.

Going back to the Barton farm was tempting. _Very_ tempting. She couldn't pretend hanging out with Pepper the last few days hadn't made her want to be among friends, that she hadn't called Clint mostly because she missed his face.

But he needed this time with his family. They needed him. She'd sworn to herself even though she counted Clint as her best friend she would never come between him and his family, even though they counted her as part of it.

If there was a place for her in the world, she'd have to find it on her own.

"I know," she said. "For now I'll stay put in the Tower. Where I won't have _Let It Go_ stuck in my head."

"God, I might just join you."

* * *

Seeing her former colleague out of SHIELD uniform was going to take some getting used to but, wearing a tailored red blouse and a smile as she invited Natasha into her office, Maria Hill seemed fully at ease in the Stark Industries HR department.

"I thought I might see you today," she said, gesturing for Natasha to take a seat across from her desk. "Stark emailed."

"Let me guess." Natasha crossed one leg over the other, combed her fingers through the front of her long straightened hair to push it back from her face. Blow drying and styling it took too long this morning; she really should get it cut. "He sent you a list of ridiculous jobs for me to _apply_ for."

Maria touched her computer screen, then swiveled in her chair to catch a sheet of paper as it emerged from the laser printer. Handing it across the desk to Natasha, she said, "It is a list of jobs, but they're positions I'd actually hire you for in a heartbeat. Are you in the market? Because all the applications that have come in so far are pitiful."

Curious in spite of herself, Natasha perused the list. _IT Consulting, Systems Analyst, Customer Relations-Overseas Division, Security Management_ , among others. She'd known Tony had it in him to be kind. If he wasn't, Bruce never would've consented to stick around after the Battle of New York, and apparently he was a season ticket holder to the Portland Philharmonic purely to support a grieving woman. This was the first time Natasha had been a recipient of Tony's particular brand of behind-the-scenes benevolence. With the exception of _Personal Assistant_ , which he'd struck through and put a winky emoticon next to, these _were_ all jobs she was qualified for, and not overly so, that she'd feel like a charity case. He'd put thought into it, and considered her feelings. Which was more than he'd done at dinner the other night.

She was weirdly touched that he'd give her access to the company's network. It indicated a greater level of trust than she thought he had in her since she revealed Natalie Rushman was not her true identity.

"Can't you see me in IT, resisting the urge to break people's fingers every time I have to say, _Did you try restarting your computer?_ "

"Imagine all the skeletons you'd get to dig out of closets if you were doing background checks."

"I've been doing a bit of that on my own," Natasha replied, laying the paper on Maria's desk. "Audrey Nathan."

There was a pause, as if Maria did not immediately recognize the name, though Natasha was fully aware that this might well be an act.

"The cellist?" she asked after a moment. Then, with a catch in her voice, "Coulson's girlfriend?"

Natasha explained how Tony and Pepper had gone out to Portland expressly to see her, and how this had been going on for the past three years, because Audrey took Coulson's death so hard.

"I didn't know that," Maria said, "but I'm not surprised. Pepper and Coulson got pretty close while SHIELD was watching Stark. I think they even went out a few times."

While Maria's claim not to know about the couple's relationship with Audrey may not have been genuine, Natasha truly didn't know Coulson dated Pepper. Obviously Tony didn't, either.

Trying not to let this information distract her, Natasha went on: "Pepper said the fall of SHIELD was triggering for Audrey."

Maria looked down at her desk, so Natasha couldn't read her eyes. Of course, this might have been a reaction to _the fall of SHIELD_ , which affected Natasha, too.

"I was the one who notified Audrey of Coulson's death," Maria said, straightening a pen so that it was parallel to the edge of a legal pad beside her computer keyboard. "It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. She was..."

"Devastated."

"I was going to say she was so in love with him."

Natasha smiled slightly at that. Clint had no idea the relationship was serious, but Maria talked about it in terms of love.

"It makes sense that finding out about SHIELD agents being exposed as members of HYDRA would upset her, if she's been grieving."

"Definitely." Maria withdrew her hand from her desk, curled her fingers over the edge of her chair's arm rest as she looked at Natasha again. "How awful for her."

"It's not just that, though."

Maria raised her eyebrows in an expression that said this, too, was news.

"Apparently reports of power outages around Portland," Natasha explained. "Communities entirely without energy. Sounds a whole lot like that Darkforce guy who was stalking her when Coulson first met her. Marcus Daniels?"

"Sounds right, but that was four, maybe five years ago? I don't recall the details."

"You probably recall we put him in the Fridge. Which means chances are he's not anymore."

"Chances are," Maria agreed. "Doesn't mean he's in Portland, though."

Natasha leaned forward in her chair. "Maria. The power thing? That's Daniels' MO."

Maria made an open-palmed gesture. "Why would HYDRA release him just to send him after a cellist who once dated a dead agent? Surely they have better uses for Darkforce?"

" _Something_ made her miss a performance and fly out to DC to visit Coulson's grave. You know about that, don't you? That someone dug it up and took the body?"

"And you think that's connected with Daniels?"

Releasing a breath, Natasha leaned back in her chair, turning her head to look out the glass walls of the at the office bustle beyond. "I thought you'd know something that would help connect the dots."

"I'm sorry," said Maria with an apologetic smile. "I don't have any more contacts than you do. With these hearings…my lawyers advised distancing myself."

"Of course. Sorry, I…" She needed work. Real work. Loneliness and boredom were liabilities. "I need to find something to do that's not googling and going to the gym."

"Well you came to the right place."

Natasha gave a snort of laughter as she read the words etched on the office door, backwards from where she stood on this side of the glass. "Human Resources." She pushed to her feet, took the paper off the desk. "If I get desperate enough to actually apply for one of these, I'll let you know."

"I wasn't talking about for Stark Industries."

Natasha stopped in the doorway, folding her arms over her chest as she turned back to Maria.

"I'm listening."

* * *

"What's a girl gotta do around here to get a fella to notice her?"

Bruce startled at Natasha's voice-well, not _quite_ Natasha's voice; it was a more nasally tone than her natural one, and she'd used a mid-Atlantic accent-sounding suddenly from the living room doorway. He didn't react as strongly as the last time she surprised him watching _Bringing Up Baby_ -thank God. Dropping the bowl of leftover biryani in his lap would have been even messier and more embarrassing, and crawling around on the floor chasing popcorn kernels had been bad enough. Still, she caught him enough off his guard that he was at a loss to think of a clever reply.

"Natasha," he said, leaning to place his bowl on the coffee table and pick up the remote control to pause the movie, which now regretted watching without her. But he'd thought her rain check comment the other night had just been politely blowing him off. "Sorry, didn't see you there."

_Obviously_. He cringed inwardly, but Natasha breezed into the room as though he hadn't said it.

"That's how they talk in these old movies, right?" She glanced at the TV as she seated herself on the leather arm of the sofa.

"You'd give Katharine Hepburn a run for her money. You and Cate Blanchett."

Natasha pursed her lips together in a small smile. "And then what would the leading man say?"

Bruce's own grin fell as he furrowed his brow at her. "I don't…"

"Just run with it," she said, and flipped back into the old Hollywood accent. "I said, what's a girl gotta do around here to get a fella to notice her?" As she spoke, she reached up and tucked a curling lock of hair behind her ear.

"Did you cut your hair?"

Again, the pleased little smile. "Yes. But stay in-character."

Bruce let his gaze wander to the TV, considering the stilled image of Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant in the midst of their leopard shenanigans.

"A girl like you?" he said. "Nothing at all, sweetheart."

"I might've known you'd be cruel." Natasha looked away sharply-then back again when Bruce caught her wrist.

"A fella can't notice anything else when you're in the room."

She stared at him for a heart-stopping moment during which he couldn't tell whether her surprise was genuine or part of the act. _He_ had definitely gotten carried away. He looked down at his fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist, and released it. Natasha sat up straight, but continued to study him.

"You're not a bad improviser, Banner."

Bruce let out a shaky laugh and ducked his head, causing his glasses to slip down his nose. "Thanks," he said, pushing them back up. "You'd certainly know," he added, then immediately wished he hadn't, remembering how he'd accidentally offended her the other night at dinner.

But she only said, "It'll come in handy on our mission."

Bruce chuckled again as she slid off the sofa arm, only for it to die abruptly as he words reached his befuddled brain.

"On our…Wait, what?"


	6. Powers of Persuasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I can't thank my readers enough for your response to this fic. Your thoughtful comments on the previous chapter blew me away, despite there not being much Bruce in it. This one's entirely Bruce and Natasha, so hopefully that'll wipe some of the red off my ledger. ;)

The TV, paused too long in the middle of _Bringing Up Baby_ , went dark. Bruce caught his reflection in the screen: one arm folded across his stomach, the elbow of the other resting on it, chin propped on his fist as he paced. He saw Natasha, too, sitting motionless on the sectional sofa as she watched him take all this in, waited for him to respond. For a moment, he thought he'd somehow slipped back in time, to that shack where she'd cornered him in Calcutta. Then he blinked and took in the pristine luxury of Avengers Tower.

He stopped pacing, lowered his arms and clasped his hands together as he faced her.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Someone trustworthy finding out what potentially dangerous extra-terrestrial objects, most of which could be weaponized, have fallen into the hands of HYDRA or are in the US arsenal? You don't think that's a good idea?"

When she put it like that, with barely the slightest twitch of an eyebrow, without altering the inflection of her voice…

"Okay," Bruce acquiesced. "Maybe that part's not such a bad idea. But you and me breaking into a secure, military-controlled containment facility?" He shook his head.

As Natasha had explained, SHIELD had a facility for objects and people confiscated and captured and deemed too dangerous for regular Federal containment units. They called it the Fridge, and after the agency fell, HYDRA raided it. Fortunately-or not, depending on how you felt about the US government-the Air Force swooped in before HYDRA cleaned the entire place out. But, not being accustomed to dealing with the stuff SHIELD did, they had no idea what they'd gotten their hands on.

"We wouldn't be breaking in," she argued, still maintaining her cool composure. "It's not fake retinal scans and dangling from wires and triggering alarms with a single drop of sweat."

"Oh, well, if it's not _Mission: Impossible_ , then I'm all in."

As Bruce resumed pacing, he caught Natasha's slight smile at his sarcasm.

"Are you going to finish this?" She'd slid to the edge of the leather sofa and was eying his partially eaten bowl of biryani on the coffee table.

He shook his head; it seemed that talk of taking part in a spy mission was a sure way to make him lose his appetite.

"Mind if I…?"

Passing by the sofa, Bruce pulled the bowl from her hands. Her mouth fell open in surprise as she looked up at him.

"It would be unconscionable of me to let you eat it cold," he muttered.

Natasha followed him through the open-concept common area of the Tower to the kitchen, where he opened the stainless steel refrigerator and took out the glass dish of leftovers. He started to add some to his own bowl, then decided he was still hungry, after all. He got out a second one for her and filled it with the remainder of the biryani.

"As I was saying..." Natasha began when he'd started the microwave, which required Bruce to turn around. He found her perched on the granite countertop, feet dangling a good eighteen inches above the tile floor. "We'd walk right through the doors, in disguise, of course, with official covers as former SHIELD agents hoping to get jobs in the science and technology branch of the FBI-"

"How _X Files_. Or _Fringe_ , if you're too young for the first reference."

"I've seen re-runs." She regarded him tolerantly.

Bruce opened the microwave, gave the food a stir, and resumed heating it.

"Anyway," Natasha said, "government jobs in exchange for assisting with the Air Force's damage assessment at the Fridge. It'd all be very legit."

"Except for that part where we use _fake_ names and credentials, and one of us could very literally blow our cover?" Bruce pulled off his glasses and rubbed his forehead then, pocketing them, faced Natasha once again. "Look, it's not that I think the whole idea is completely horrible. Just the part that includes me."

"Gee, thanks."

"Mostly just the part that includes me."

"Who else could it be? Steve's chasing the Winter Soldier, Thor's in Asgard, Tony is…"

She trailed off, as if at a loss for words, or simply trying to be tactful.

"Tony," Bruce prompted, and Natasha's little smile appeared again.

The microwave beeped, and he took out the steaming bowl, hissing as he burned the tips of his fingers.

"What about Barton?" he asked, handing it to her with a hot pad. "Undercover is both your thing."

Natasha hopped down from the counter to open the silverware drawer her legs had been blocking. "Clint's building a tool shed."

"I assume that's code for something."

At that, her laugh rang out in the kitchen. Bruce realized it wasn't a sound he'd heard before, or at least not that he recalled. It would've been a nice sound, if he'd known why he was hearing it. In the present context, the laugh only served to make heat prickle up from his collar and along his cheekbones, and to affirm how _not_ cut out for this he was. He slammed the microwave door and punched the buttons to start the timer.

"So there it is: I'm your last choice."

"I thought we already established that Stark's my last choice," Natasha replied around a bite. She swallowed, then said, all amusement gone from her tone, "As a matter of fact, you're first choice. The most qualified. Clint can do undercover, but one of us needs to be an actual scientist."

 _First choice_. The words took Bruce back to playground days and choosing teams for sports. He'd never been anyone's first choice. While he suspected Natasha Romanoff wasn't the kind of woman who doled out compliments like candy on Halloween, some things weren't easy to accept.

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I just don't think I-"

"Are you an Avenger, Bruce?"

He didn't answer right away. Behind him, he heard the quiet clink of the bowl as Natasha set it on the counter, the jingle of buckles on her boots as she crossed the kitchen to him. She placed one hand on the granite, beside where his own hands rested; the other curled around his arm as she looked up at him. Awaiting his reply.

"Yes," he answered, and tried to look away. The squeeze of her fingers on his arm clearly indicated that he'd better not. "But-"

"No _buts_. Either you're a part of the team, or you're not. So be on the team."

The difference in their height wasn't significant, especially when she wore heels. Nevertheless, they were standing close enough together that Bruce found himself bending his head as he shifted to her directly, so that she had to tilt hers further back to maintain eye contact.

"Is it being a part of the team to do this on your own?" he demanded.

"I won't be on my own, if you're with me." A sly grin played on her lips.

"Don't be coy, Natasha. I'm not talking about having a partner, and you know it."

Her smile fell away, as did her hand from his arm. She stepped back, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then what are you talking about?"

Bruce had a thought that it was probably as foolish to go toe-to-toe with Natasha Romanoff in a verbal sparring match as it was in a physical one-at least in his current state-but it wouldn't be the first time he'd done it.

"About scheming with Maria Hill, and then trying to drag me into it." He resisted the urge to fold his own arms, mirroring her position, settled for slipping them into his pants pockets instead. The stance felt less than authoritative. "I don't work for SHIELD, Natasha."

"Neither do I."

Was it just his imagination, or was there a crack in her voice as she said it? Rubbing salt in her wound hadn't been his intention. The thought that he had, even without meaning to, made him back off.

"Maybe not officially," he said, opening the microwave; when did the timer go off? "But you have to appreciate how this looks from my vantage point. A mission for a former SHIELD agent, to a former SHIELD base…"

"The key word being _former_. That's exactly why we have to do this. There's no SHIELD to stop these guys, and the military has no idea how. The Avengers are the only ones who can."

She had a point. A pretty good one, at that. Bruce was also pretty sure there was a counter-point, though standing in the middle of the kitchen, holding a bowl of twice re-warmed vegetarian biryani, he didn't feel exactly equipped to make it. Maybe after he ate…Spearing a bite, he shambled toward the doorway to the darkened dining room.

"By the way," said Natasha, crossing in front of him to the counter where her food was cooling. "I didn't mention one of the potential weapons we should be particularly concerned about."

"You didn't, but I bet you will."

Natasha leaned back against the counter, bowl in one hand, fork in the other. "Loki's scepter." She took a bite.

Bruce choked. Fragmented images, as of a dream half-forgotten, flickered in his memory: cracked concrete and a battered body, and the accompanying sensation of satisfaction settling in his gut.

"You might also be interested to know who's in command of the Fridge."

He wasn't. He truly wasn't. But between coughs he spluttered out in spite of himself, "Who?"

"Colonel Glenn Talbot. General Ross' little stooge."

A growl rumbled through Bruce's mind.

"You're not the only Avenger on his shit list, you know," Natasha said.

"Yeah...Tony mentioned something about that "Looks like they're accepting anyone for membership in the club these days."

"Sorry for ruining your public enemy hipster cred. Ross was your nemesis before it was mainstream."

Bruce actually had to chuckle at that, and he heard Natasha's laugh again, mingling with his.

"You have to admit it'll be kind of fun pulling one over the old bastard," she said. "Practically on his own turf."

"I don't know if _fun_ 's exactly the word I'd use," Bruce said, but another voice in his mind indicated it was exactly the word _he_ would use. If he were verbal, that was. "Guess we'll find out."

"I knew I could count on you."

"Yeah, well, you have kind of a good track record when it comes into talking me into going along with your schemes."

Bruce took a bite, lowering his eyes to inspect the contents of his bowl as he speared another forkful. Aware that Natasha stood very still across from him, he looked up again, chewing slowly as he found her studying him intently: head cocked, eyes narrowed slightly, lips pursed together. He'd seen that expression before. He half-expected her to argue that Calcutta had been Fury's scheme, not hers.

Instead, she said, "I didn't persuade you to grab the nearest spare clothes and motorbike and join the Battle of New York. You volunteered."

_We could use a little worse._

Bruce swallowed. His collar itched, and he let his fork rest in his bowl to free up a hand to scratch it. "I volunteered the Other Guy."

"He's a part of you, whether you like it or not."

"Definitely not."

"Still, it was your choice."

 _That_ time it had been. The rest of the time it wasn't. She knew that as well as anyone. Which was why he didn't voice this thought aloud, or argue further. For some reason completely unbeknownst to him, Natasha didn't seem to think he would lose control this time and finish the work HYDRA started on a rampage through the Fridge. Or maybe this was some sort of test. For him or for her, though? He kept that question to himself, too.

Instead, he held her gaze as he pushed off the counter he'd been leaning against, closing the space between them.

"You always go looking for trouble, kid?"

One dark red eyebrow and the corner of her lips hitched upward, and she replied in her old Hollywood voice: "I guess you could say trouble has a way of finding me."

"That makes two of us."


	7. Secret Agent Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt badly about chapter 6 being on the short side, so this week's installment is super-sized! It also introduces a character from Agents of SHIELD, Glenn Talbot, who is one of my favorites and I hope he returns in season three. (If you're a non-show watcher or behind, don't worry, there's nothing spoilery.)He's a lot of fun to write, so maybe from my lips to the SHIELD writers' ears. ;)
> 
> Readers, you guys continue to be awesome. I appreciate each and every one of your comments, which bring lots of smiles to my face all week long and motivate me as I work on the next chapter. If I could, I'd throw a big Avengers-style party for you, although like Bruce, my version of entertainment is probably pretty dorky. Thanks so much! And as always, thanks to my awesome beta reader, vladnyrki.

This was a horrible idea.

Bruce thought it, _said_ it, before he agreed to take part in Natasha's mission to the Fridge. Now that it was actually under way, he regretted not standing by his original opinion.

He closed his eyes against the image of the rocky terrain, tilted at a nauseating angle far below the helicopter. He'd gotten better with travel in general-being on the run necessitated it, and spontaneous cross-country jaunts with Tony hadn't been infrequent occurrences over the past two years. Still, there was a big difference between a private jet with a friend, so luxurious Bruce all but forgot he was confined to a flying metal container, and a military helicopter seated across from a high-ranking officer to whom he was lying about his identity.

"Earth to David, come in please, David..."

The voice in his headset, female but not entirely familiar, laced with a Southern twang, was accompanied by a tap on his arm. Bruce glanced at the young woman beside him, pushing the large tortoise shell glasses up his nose as though that would allow him a clearer view through her disguise to the Natasha Romanoff he knew.

If he really knew her at all. Funny how this was probably the most natural state he'd seen her in- unmade up as far as he could tell except for a dusting of blush across her pale cheeks and barely tinted lip gloss-yet if he met her on the street he might not recognize her. Though not exactly frumpy, her outfit wasn't the fashionable, feminine, but still a force to be reckoned with style he was accustomed to. Her recently cropped auburn hair was covered with a dishwater blonde wig, which cascaded her shoulders in waves that looked as though she'd let it air dry, with thick bangs in need of a trim. She'd traded in the skinny jeans, knee-high boots, and fitted leather jackets (which she seemed to have in endless supply) for loose khaki slacks, a flowy cardigan over a button-down blouse, and loafers. Natasha would blend perfectly into the sciences department of any university campus, which wasn't a setting he'd ever imagined her in.

Although her lips curved gently in a smile of amusement, her serious eyes seemed to have gone a darker shade of blue than usual. Or maybe it was just a trick of the lighter hair color.

"Colonel Talbot's tryin' to get your attention," she drawled.

Bruce looked to the opposite bench, where Glenn Talbot sat in his camouflage utility uniform, clearly no more amused than Natasha despite the smirk he wore beneath his mustache.

"I said your name three times, Professor," Talbot said. "Forget it?"

Bruce's scalp prickled beneath the bald cap Natasha insisted on; his own mop of hair too was recognizably Dr. Banner, she'd said. A bead of perspiration slid down his nose, making the heavy plastic-framed glasses slip again. He missed his own lightweight wire frames, but these covered more of his face. For all the good it did, as Talbot surely saw through the disguise. Knew they weren't actually Dr. David Huxley and Susan Vance, former SHIELD scientists.

The tightly clamped headphones heightened Bruce's sensation of the blood roaring in his ears. He drew deep breaths, tried to calm his racing pulse with thoughts of the conversation he and Natasha had about their aliases before the mission. He'd asked if he could pick them-just trying to get into the spirit of things.

She merely gave a nonchalant shrug. "Why not? As long as it's not anything dumb and obvious. So no Mr. Green, Flagg, or Hogan."

"Hogan?" Bruce was scratching the back of his neck, self-conscious that she was aware of his past _Mr. Green_ , only to be even more embarrassed by his slow uptake as he got her joke. " _Oohh._ "

He'd blurted out _David Huxley_ and _Susan Vance_ , the names of the two leads in _Bringing Up Baby_ , but Natasha apparently found them satisfactory enough. "Let's just hope Talbot doesn't spend as much time as you do watching classic movie marathons," she said, then went off to create their falsified IDs and files before he could argue that he didn't watch _that_ much TV.

"I wouldn't put it past David to forget his own name," she said now. She giggled, too, then darted an uncertain glance at Talbot before returning her gaze to Bruce. "He forgets his glasses are on his face."

"Are they?" He put his hand up as though to check that they were there, and was rewarded with another laugh from Natasha. It wasn't the one he'd heard several nights ago in the kitchen of Avengers Tower, but it nevertheless sent a rush of relief through him, his heart rate slowing as he let out his breath.

"I'm afraid I do live up to the absent-minded professor," Bruce said as he pulled off his glasses.

His inspiration came from the dinner conversation with Tony and Pepper, and Natasha had to recognize it. But what had she said when they improvised a scene from an old movie? _Just run with it_. Spying was just like that. Kind of. Except that their roleplay was currently staged on a helicopter and included a third character, his nemesis' protégé.

Talbot had no response to Bruce's apology, except to continue staring with eyes slightly narrowed beneath his thick peaked eyebrows. Although maybe that boded well for a lack of knowledge about classic cinema?

Delving into a pocket of his tweed sport coat, Bruce bumped shoulders with Natasha as he fished out a handkerchief.

"I don't travel much," he said, straightening up to buff the lenses. "Guess I got lost in thought as I enjoyed the view."

"Didn't do much field work for SHIELD?" Talbot asked.

"They kept me chained to my workbench in the lab." Too late, Bruce realized how this might make SHIELD look, given that it was infiltrated by rogue Nazis. "Not literally, of course," he added, mopping his brow with the handkerchief.

"Of course," Talbot replied. "What about you, Ms. Vance?"

"They occasionally released me to go to the library and write about my findings." The sunlight reflected in Natasha's eyes, lending a faraway look to her accompanying wistful tone. "I'm sure gonna miss that lab."

That was a nice touch for a brilliant young scientist, Bruce thought, but Talbot's snort crackled in his headset.

"The FBI doesn't have SHIELD's budget, but I'm sure you'll find everything state of the art. That is, assuming you're hired."

He launched into a rant about the government resources that had been squandered on SHIELD without any real oversight. Bruce tuned out, stifling a snort of his own. Clearly, Talbot had never seen SHIELD's science facilities, or if he had, couldn't appreciate what had been lost to Hydra. Even the lab aboard the Helicarrier had been enough to make Bruce temporarily suspend his wariness of the agency to work in it.

And then he'd nearly destroyed the whole thing in a Hulkrage.

"It says here you joined SHIELD in 2012, Ms. Vance?"

Bruce returned his attention to Talbot, who had opened one of the thick manila folders on his lap, containing the falsified records of two scientists' education, employment, and personal backgrounds.

"One of the many recruits inspired by the Battle of New York, I presume?"

"Yes. Well, um." Natasha fidgeted in her seat, uncrossing her legs and then crossing them again the other way. She pushed the hair out of her eyes. "Professor Huxley was my undergraduate advisor. He'd been after me since grad school to apply to SHIELD and continue my work there. I wanted to finish my PhD first or I knew I never would." She cut her eyes up at Bruce, a grin slanting. "Which I was right about."

"You'll finish it, Sue," Bruce said, slipping easily into the part of encouraging professor.

Once upon a time, that had been more than a role. He smiled slightly, feeling nostalgic, and rubbed his chin, surprising himself with the prickle of beard-another part of the disguise Natasha insisted on.

"I look like I escaped from the cast of a _Fiddler on the Roof_ revival," he'd said as he scrutinized his disguise in a full-length mirror before they met Talbot: bald head, full dark beard, slightly shabby tweed jacket over a sweater vest.

"We pull this off, and I'll pour you a drink and let you sing 'L'Chaim'," Natasha replied.

"Only if you do a Cossack dance."

"Sure thing."

"Can you?" Bruce had, too eagerly. "With a bottle on your head and everything?"

"I can't believe you even need to ask that question, Banner," she said, then left him to mull over whether she was offended that he thought she would ever do such a thing, or that he doubted her ability to do it.

The memory made him grin, but Bruce smothered it behind his hand so that he looked appropriately serious as he listened to Natasha's reply to Colonel Talbot.

"The Chitauri invasion gave me the impetus to leave the safety of academia and really make my work mean something."

She fairly glowed as she said it, eyes shining with the earnestness of youth. She really was fantastic, Bruce thought, but Talbot remained unaffected.

"It must've been a blow to learn that work may have meant the opposite from protecting humanity. You would've been better off joining the military than SHIELD."

"If aliens attacked before I took out all those student loans, maybe," Natasha quipped, but Talbot shifted his attention to Bruce, who hadn't been able to suppress his reaction to the Colonel's previous statement.

"What's that, Professor Huxley? Does the idea of military service make you uncomfortable?"

Bruce resisted blurting out that he was a pacifist. "My old man was in the Navy. As I'm sure you already read in my file."

He indicated the folder with a jerk of his chin, but Talbot didn't spare it a glance.

"You never wanted to follow in your father's footsteps? All my son ever talks about is growing up and becoming a soldier like his dad."

"I guess we all end up following in our parents' footsteps." Bruce felt his fingers curl into fists on his lap; he clasped his hands together instead. "Whether we intend to or not."

For a moment no one said anything. In the reflection of the window, Natasha glanced back and forth from him to Talbot. It was perfectly in-character, but Bruce sensed her concern about him.

"Colonel Talbot," she began, "how old's your-"

"Are you like your parents, Ms. Vance?"

"My biological parents, you mean? I never knew them, so I couldn't say."

She'd stuck with the truth for Susan's backstory? Bruce turned from the window, watching her out the corner of his eye as she went on.

"I can tell you that I believe in nurture over nature. My adopted parents and mentors taught me to be the best version of myself, the one that can do the most good."

Who was she talking about? The mentors, the parent figures, as he knew she'd never been adopted. Nick Fury? Agent Coulson? Was that why she'd been so preoccupied with Coulson's girlfriend? What about Barton? _Mentor_ never struck Bruce as precisely the dynamic between him and Natasha.

"Unfortunately," she went on, voice low, almost as if speaking to herself, "that wasn't as an Agent of SHIELD."

The loss was so raw in her voice that Bruce wanted to offer some word or gesture of comfort. Before he could decide what to do, Natasha pushed her hair out of her eyes and went on:

"Which is why when Agent-Maria Hill, I mean-approached us about assisting you with this project, neither of us hesitated to accept."

"That so, Professor?" Talbot asked.

"We just want to help," Bruce said, trying to channel some of Natasha's conviction. "There's a lot of dangerous stuff at the Fridge-well, not so much anymore…We don't want what's left to fall into the wrong hands. Or, you know, inadvertently harm the right ones."

As he fumbled with his words, he reached up to clutch his hair between his fingers, only to feel the smooth disguise.

"I'm sure you can appreciate how Nick Fury's deception with regard to the Fridge's contents doesn't make me willing to trust the former SHIELD higher-ups," Talbot said, "regardless of how desperate Maria Hill is to make amends. SHIELD was stockpiling weapons, and now Hydra has them. That's an act of terrorism, in my book."

Bruce wasn't sure what that said about him that he actually agreed with Talbot on this. Not that Fury was a terrorist, per se, but one man in possession of this kind of weaponry? What did Natasha make of it?

"Relax, Professor," Talbot said, and Bruce realized he'd been rubbing his beard again. "You act like I'm suspicious of _you_. Believe me, you two are transparent. I can see why they never put you in the field. Hydra would chew you up and spit you out. It's lucky you were able to get out of their way."

If Bruce _had_ been able to relax and enjoy the remainder of his flight, then it would have been undone the moment he disembarked the helicopter anyway. The Fridge's only entrance lay on the roof-a detail which Natasha neglected to mention-one hundred stories up. Not that Avengers Tower wasn't practically that tall, or that he never ventured out onto the balcony. But back home the skyscrapers of New York City surrounded him; here, there was nothing. Braced against the wind from the swirling chopper blades, he looked all around. In one direction, water stretched out for miles, and in the others only open land. There was something disconcerting, to say the least, about being up so high, and so isolated.

The armed troops that converged to escort them inside probably had something to do with that feeling, as well. Natasha glanced at him as they proceeded, playing the role of the young scientist out of her element, but no doubt trying to get a read on his stress level. Was she thinking, as he was, of walking out of that shack with him in Calcutta, revealing that she hadn't been honest about coming alone to recruit him?

Unsettling as the rooftop was, the elevator ride down one hundred levels was worse. It didn't take long, but the weight of every floor between him and the outside compounded the lower they got. Unless the Other Guy decided to make an exit, of course- in the most literal sense-which seemed like a distinct possibility when they were searched outside the entrance to the basement storage room. Bruce clenched his jaw and his fists as a soldier patted him down, the growl which had been at the back of his mind that he was _not safe_ now much nearer to the surface.

"You're tense, pal," remarked the guard. "What's the matter, never got a pat down at the airport before?"

"He doesn't travel much," Natasha said, with the hint of a nervous laugh, as if she were trying to relieve her own discomfort at being searched with an attempt at humor.

Of course Bruce knew she wasn't really bothered by the search; she'd warned him about the likelihood.

"How will you conceal a weapon?" he'd asked, which earned him one of her smirks.

"I won't. We'll be surrounded by soldiers with very _un_ concealed weapons. Comes to that, I'll be spoiled for choice. But it won't."

At the time, Bruce found it reassuring. Now, however, the Other Guy wasn't entirely convinced puny Banner would be adequately protected by the tiny woman whom Bruce wasn't sure the Hulk recognized in disguise. And to be fair, they didn't have a great track record when it came to military encounters.

As soon as the search of their persons was finished, Natasha came to stand beside him as the inspection of their belongings continued. _Close_ beside him. Her shoulder touched his arm, the back of her hand against his. And then her fingers skimmed beneath the sleeve of his jacket, brushing the sensitive skin of his wrist.

With a sharp intake of breath, Bruce flinched away. Natasha glanced up at him, brows knit beneath her bangs.

"Ticklish," he whispered.

Smiling slightly, she reached for him again, fingers circling his wrist just below the leather band of his watch. The pad of her thumb scuffed his pulse point, and for a moment his heart hung in his chest. When it resumed beating again, it was at a less frantic tempo than before, gradually slowing to keep pace with the strokes of her thumb. The Other Guy receded back to the recesses of his mind, replaced by the echo of Natasha's voice: _I will get you through this_.

"They're clean, Colonel Talbot," announced the soldier overseeing the search of their bags.

"Then let's send 'em in, Sergeant."

Natasha looked up at Bruce, eyebrows arching upward in an expression that clearly said, _See? I told you this was child's play_. He supposed it had been, considering the childhood she'd had.

"Your turn, Doc," she murmured, then with a gentle squeeze released his wrist.

Bruce's stomach fluttered. He moved to retrieve his bags, then stepped through the bank vault-like door that had been opened for them.

 _Storage room_ proved something of a misnomer as he looked around the vast underground space. More like the warehouse in _Indiana Jones_ , with its shelves full of crates full of antiquities of mystical origin, only this one had been ransacked. He surveyed the damage, containers overturned and emptied of their contents, or taken entirely, even a number of the shelves themselves toppled, like dominoes.

The heavy door clanged shut behind them, followed by the mechanical thunk of the lock turning over.

"Why the grin?" Natasha asked.

Was he grinning? Bruce let the bag slide off his shoulder, then shrugged out of his jacket.

"Just that there's not usually destruction _before_ I arrive on the scene," he replied, rolling up his shirtsleeves. "Makes for a nice change."

A change to not _have_ to change. To know that it wasn't just the Other Guy who had a place on the Avengers, but that Dr. Bruce Banner had his uses, too.


	8. Debrief

Natasha loaded the report from the mission onto a tablet and placed the tablet on the treadmill in front of Maria Hill. Without breaking stride she began to read, while Natasha took a seat on a nearby weight bench to watch. Not that there was much to see, Maria as expert as she was at setting her features in a neutral expression. Even the exertion of running would have appeared to be only mild, if not for the sweat shimmering on her forehead and chest.

Until her pace abruptly sped up.

"I take it you got to the part where Loki's scepter wasn't in the Fridge," Natasha said.

Maria said nothing, but ran faster.

"Which means Hydra has it."

Maria's feet pounded, breath coming harder and then erratic, until her long strides carried her off the treadmill and across the mats to the punching bag.

As she watched her attack it, Natasha refrained from pointing out that she wasn't wearing gloves; God only knew she'd been in Maria's gym shoes enough times. Clearly, she hadn't adapted to working in the private sector as completely or as easily as she wanted everyone to believe-and a small part of Natasha was relieved to see it.

Maria finished pounding the bag and stepped away from it, shaking her knuckles, then bent with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Straightening up again, she smoothed her disheveled dark hair back from her face and re-tied her ponytail, then went back to the treadmill, took a long drink from her water bottle, wiped her face and neck on a white towel.

"Sorry about that," her slightly winded voice broke the silence as she approached, tablet in hand.

"No apology necessary." Natasha started to stand, the height difference between them already significant enough when she wasn't sitting down, but Maria lowered herself onto the bench.

"It was good work, Romanoff." She offered the tablet.

Natasha took it. "And Banner."

"Everything went alright with him? I mean, obviously it did, you both got out of the Fridge with that. But…he was okay?"

Natasha considered her reply. "There was a moment when he had me a little worried, but we-"

She caught herself, struck with the sudden vivid memory of what occurred between them. Of the way her fingers curled around his wrist, not completely encircling it...Of the franticness of pulse against the pad of her thumb, like a wild animal in a cage at first, then gradually relaxing, _trusting_...And, of all details to recall, the softness of the hair that grew thickly over the back of his arm.

Although Maria was looking at Natasha, waiting for her to continue, it felt wrong to speak of any of this. Not an invasion of Bruce's privacy exactly; more like divulging an intimacy.

"He worked through it," she said. "He was okay. _Great_ , in fact. Couldn't have done it without him."

"I'll go thank him myself after this." Maria drank from her water bottle again. "I assume he's in the lab?"

"Probably a safe bet. He had an idea for how to possibly track the scepter's location. He wanted to consult the research he and Stark did when we had it on the Helicarrier. Nothing that sounded like English to me."

"Did Fury ever tell you why he sent you, specifically, to recruit Banner?"

Natasha was prepared to talk with Maria about the future-of SHIELD, or the Avengers, she didn't know which-not to reminisce about the past. Now, she thought of what Bruce said when she asked him to come with her to the Fridge: _You have kind of a good track record when it comes into talking me into going along with your schemes._ His word choice made her bristle, even as she remembered it had been hers, too, uttered in that seductive tone that seldom failed her. _I'll persuade you_. But it failed her that time. Dr. Bruce Banner was no fool.

"Why me?" she asked, curious where Maria was going with this in spite of being suspicious of the abrupt change of subject. It wasn't the first time either. Although she was grateful the Fridge mission gave her something concrete to channel her mental and physical energy into, a thought nagged at the back of her mind about the timing. Had Maria used it to distract her from the questions about Agent Coulson's girlfriend? Fury would have. Or maybe Maria truly had no answers.

"When the Hulk went on his big rampage back in 2010," she began, "our agents on the ground observed he had a particular response to General Ross' daughter, Betty. He didn't hurt her. In fact the opposite was true. He protected her. On some level, he must have recognized her, or Banner was able to exert control over the Hulk."

Natasha shrugged. "Makes sense. The Big Guy fought alongside the Avengers. He saved Stark. They share a brain, even if the Hulk's is more primitive. He likes who Bruce likes."

And disliked who Bruce disliked. Thank God he'd changed his mind about her. Both of them.

She gave another shrug. "He and Betty were together."

"Not at the time. In fact she was dating someone else."

"Are you saying Fury thought maybe the Hulk just needed a woman's touch?" Natasha stood, folded her arms across her chest, tablet still clutched in one hand, fingernails boring into the rubbery case. " _Beauty and the Beast_?"

"It was just a hunch."

"Not a very good one. Bruce didn't trust me then. I'm not sure he trusts me very much more now."

He definitely wouldn't if he knew Fury's methods-and now Maria's-included exploiting his romantic history. After all, his first reaction to her touch had been to flinch away from her. If he'd looked at her pleadingly, it was because he was desperate. He'd looked at her that way before he transformed on the Helicarrier, too.

"You just said the two of you worked through a near-incident at the Fridge," Mary said.

"He was still himself. It wasn't exactly Hulk whispering."

"In any case, you guys made a pretty good team. Fury was right about that."

"Speaking of teams," Natasha said, "do the Avengers need to assemble to find the scepter?"

Maria pushed to her feet, stooping to gather her towel and water bottle, lips pressed together into a colorless line. "Not yet. Not without leads."

Natasha's jaw tensed, and her brows drew together. As if _she_ hadn't spent her life finding leads?

"Like I said…" She spoke deliberately, trying to keep her cool, not to let her frustration show. "Banner's going to see if he can find any way to trace it. And there's a chance Rogers' search for Bucky Barnes might lead him to Hydra cells."

"I'll see what I can find."

"I thought your lawyers advised you to cut SHIELD ties?"

"Yeah, well...looks like I'll have to ignore it, huh?"

Maria turned and strode to the door. As she reached for the handle when Natasha called out, "Say hi to Nick for me."

"What makes you think I'm in contact with Fury?"

Natasha shrugged. "You must be, because you're starting to sound just like him."

* * *

"Fee-fi-fum-fo, I smell the curiosity of my science bro."

"I think it's _fo_ before _fum_ ," Bruce replied, not turning from his screen to look at Tony's face on the one behind him.

"Except after _c_? I'd tell you about how I don't know these nursery rhymes like all the other boys and girls-"

"It's not a nursery rhyme. It's _Jack and the Beanstalk_."

"-because Daddy didn't spend enough time with me, but that would just put you to sleep."

Bruce pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You are never letting me off the hook for that, are you?"

"Never ever."

Tucking his glasses into his lab coat pocket, he faced the video chat screen and Tony's smirk. Going by the ivory leather upholstery behind him, was calling from his plane.

"I am giving you access to those files JARVIS tells me you're looking for," he went on, "so. There's that. JARVIS? Change the security settings on the files about Loki's scepter to include Bruce."

"Settings changed, sir. Dr. Banner, here are the files you requested."

"Thank you, JARVIS." Bruce started to return to his monitors, which now revealed a new set of folders, but glanced back at Tony's screen. "I guess you're waiting for me to remark on your benevolence."

Tony made a dismissive sound. "I'd settle for knowing why the sudden interest in the glowing pimp cane."

"Oh…just a random thought I had about the scepter's energy signature. You know me and my tangents."

"I know you and your inability to lie convincingly. We've really got to work on that, Banner."

Bruce pursed his lips against the pull of a smile. If only Tony knew just how many members of the US Air Force he'd _very_ convincingly lied to.

"So what have you been up to? Missing me?"

"Something fierce," Bruce murmured, reaching up to select one of the new files that appeared on his screen.

"I'd say I sense sarcasm in your tone, but I know that's just how you cope with your feelings. How's it going with Little Miss Muffet?"

"Kind of reaching there with the spider reference, aren't you?" Bruce looked back again to see Tony rubbing his chin as he considered this.

"Hm. I guess that would work better for you. _Along came a spider, and sat down beside her, and frightened Miss-_ "

"What were you just saying about nursery rhymes and your daddy issues?" Bruce said. Before Tony could retort, he went on, "To answer your question, Natasha's great. We went on an undercover mission together."

Tony shook his head. "This is worse than I feared. I knew you'd be bored without me, but I didn't think you'd go _out of your mind_ with it, fantasizing about life as a super spy-Wait. _Is_ that what this is? An actual _fantasy_ fantasy?"

The next moment was dizzying-in a figurative sense, as Bruce's head spun with the thought that his mind had drifted more than once since yesterday to the delicate tickle of Natasha's fingers encircling his wrist, the stroke of her thumb over his pulse-and in a literal one, as Tony disappeared from the frame when Pepper snatched the tablet from him.

"I'd say you have to excuse him, Bruce," she said over Tony's protests in the background- _If it is, that's okay, I'd be glad to know you've moved on_ -"but at this point, that goes pretty much without saying, doesn't it?"

Bruce nodded. "How was Portland?"

Pepper's expression was more serious than he'd expected for a question he'd meant to be innocuous. "Portland was... _interesting_. I need to talk to Natasha about it, actually..."

She seemed to be thinking out loud rather than to be talking to Bruce, but then her eyes snapped back to his on the screen, and she smiled. "Audrey's doing better, though. We convinced her to come to California with us-she says hi, by the way-" She moved the tablet toward the brunette seated next to her; Audrey gave a shy wave, which Bruce returned. "She's meeting with a record exec Tony knows...So, you may have new music to listen to in the lab soon."

"That's great," Bruce said. "You guys are on the way there now?"

Tony commandeered the tablet again, while Pepper and Audrey resumed their own conversation. "Yeah...Think you can hang in there without me a few more days?"

"Gee, Tony, I don't know. It's not like I ever lived on my own before."

"Clinginess," Tony said, getting up from his seat. "That's what I'm talking about."

The women's voices receded into the background as he carried the tablet to the other end of the plane, standing it on the bar while he poured himself a drink.

"This whole thing with Audrey hits pretty close to home. Pepper doesn't really want me to go back to New York just yet."

Bruce knew what Tony was saying without actually saying it.

"Totally understandable," he said, voice a little tight as he felt a twinge in his chest. "Take as long as you need. Don't worry about me. I've got enough to keep me occupied."

"Yeah, please tell me more about the spy fantasies. Actually, that reminds me." Tony paused to take a drink.

"It's always so alarming when things remind you," Bruce said, returning to his workstation. "Especially when the trigger is _fantasies_."

"Not fantasies, _spies_. That's what Pepper wants to talk to Charlotte about. Better spider reference?"

"Much."

"Thanks. Anyway, SHIELD's still up and running. Well, maybe not _up_. More _under._ Ground, that is, but. They were last seen in Portland, by our friend Audrey."

"I assume the version Pepper's going to give Natasha will have fewer plot holes," Bruce said, leaning back against the edge of his desk. Hopefully just saying her name wouldn't get Tony started again. Just in case, he moved swiftly along: "Why are you telling _me_ all this at all?"

Tony shrugged and swallowed his drink. "Isn't that what friends do?"

"Dr. Banner," JARVIS' voice interrupted the conversation, "Maria Hill is outside and wishes to speak to you, if it's convenient."

"Wants to speak to _him_?" Tony pointed at Bruce. "Why? She's _my_ employ-Oh my God. You _weren't_ lying about going undercover, were you?"

"Send her in, JARVIS." Bruce cleared the data from his screens and shrugged out of his lab coat, remembering to retrieve his glasses from the pocket before he draped it over his chair; he wasn't going to get any more work done this afternoon, and he had a sudden craving for eggplant parmigiana. "See you later, Tony."

"Wait, can you give her a message from me?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at the video chat screen. "What's that?"

"It's impossible to serve two masters."

Bruce snorted. "I'm pretty sure that refers to God and money, not SHIELD and Tony Stark. Although come to think of it, SHIELD does kind of play God…" The Fridge, and its contents-or lack thereof-were proof of that.

"I rest my case," said Tony, and disconnected the call.


	9. Clearing the Air

With only two Avengers currently living full time in the Tower, Natasha didn't often have to wait for the elevator. When she pushed the button after her workout and the doors didn't immediately open, she considered taking the stairs instead. It seemed lazy to take the elevator, anyway, when she only needed to go up a few levels from the training room to her quarters, especially when she'd just exercised. But she'd overdone it a little with the leg routine, already felt the protest in her thighs at the mere thought of climbing stairs, so she took out her tablet, leaned back against the opposite wall, and perused her own Fridge report again as she waited.

She was glad she did when the elevator arrived a moment later and the doors slid apart to reveal its occupant: Bruce, with grocery bags hanging over each shoulder-the reusable cloth kind-and a half-smile on his face.

"Need a lift, kid?"

Natasha's cheek muscle twitched. She might have created a monster with this role-play thing. But after the conversation she'd had with Maria, even after the intense gym session she'd followed it with to work out her frustrations, she welcomed the banter. They hadn't had much chance to talk since they returned from the Fridge the night before.

She didn't immediately join him, though, in character or in the elevator. Instead, she closed the cover of her tablet, asked with an arched eyebrow, "Was that an elevator pun?"

The lines of Bruce's face deepened, transforming his grin into a cringe. "How do you feel about elevator puns? Or puns in general?"

A chime from the elevator, and the doors started to slide shut. The contents of the grocery bags rattled as he lurched to push the _door open_ button. He lifted his eyes to meet Natasha's again.

"I appreciate a good pun," she said.

"In that case, yes. Pun intended."

He looked so damned _relieved_ as she pushed off the wall and approached that she almost resisted the urge to tease him. _Almost._ She stopped just outside the elevator.

"I didn't say it was a good pun."

His mouth fell open, eyes rounded behind the lenses of his glasses before the corners crinkled and his hunched shoulders shook with a silent chuckle.

"Let's try this again." Natasha gave her sweat-dampened curls a little flick and said in an exaggerated mid-Atlantic accent, "Going my way, mister?"

"Depends which way you're going, sweetheart."

"Only one way to go from here."

She breezed into the elevator, reached past him to press the button for her floor, hand brushing against his as it lingered on the control panel. She heard his intake of breath as he quickly withdrew it and pivoted to stand with his back to the wall. Her smile fell, and she looked down at the tablet clutched in her hands. So they were back to this, huh?

"Technically, we could go down," Bruce said. "To the Stark Industries floors. And the Arc reactor. Though I could tell you a cautionary tale about coming into contact with radiation."

Natasha looked up again but couldn't quite meet his eyes. She fixed her gaze a little above them, on the thick greying waves that were a little more disheveled than usual. Windblown, from his walk to the supermarket. Of course he had that habit of raking his hands through it when he was nervous, which she imagined he would be doing now, if he weren't holding groceries.

"You grew a full head of hair back since the last time I saw you," she said. "Unique effect of being gamma irradiated?"

The instant the joking words left her mouth, she realized they was probably ill-advised, given his skittish reaction to her touch.

"About that...Can I get a clause in my Avengers contract: no bald caps on undercover missions?"

Her surprise at this reply gave way to a smirk. "Itchy?"

"Probably why the Other Guy got a little twitchy."

Bruce, talking positively about his experience going undercover, and making light of his alter ego, too? Seemed like they'd found _something_ in the Fridge after all.

"Ordinarily we go more high-tech," Natasha replied, relaxing her hold on the tablet. "Photostatic veils, that kind of thing. Alas, my resources are limited these days, so it's old-fashioned spy stuff."

"I'm sure Tony can come up with something." Bruce's grin faded. "Although from what Maria Hill tells me, we're not going on any more missions for a while? Did she tell you that, too?"

Another chime accompanied the elevator's stop on the floor with the common area. Bruce would be taking his groceries to the kitchen, of course. The doors opened, but he made no move to exit. Just kept looking at Natasha, expectantly, until she nodded.

He glanced away, the open collar of his shirt revealing a bulging vein in his neck.

"We _know_ Hydra has Loki's scepter, but she doesn't think we should have a meeting, at least, to discuss it? Or call the guy's brother? Half-brother?"

"He was adopted."

"Doesn't that feel, I don't know… _off_ to you?"

It did, but not in the way Bruce was thinking. Maybe not in the way she was thinking, either. _Hopefully_ not.

"I trust Maria," she said. "I'm not sure Maria entirely trusts me."

Bruce opened his mouth as though in retort, but the elevator doors sliding shut diverted his attention. Natasha pressed the button, and they opened again. One of his bags bumped her as he stepped out into the hall.

"It was nice," he said, turning back, "what you said to her. About not being able to do it without me."

"It wasn't nice. It was honest."

Maybe it was impossible for him, for anyone, to conceive of honesty from a spy. A former KGB one at that.

On the other hand, he apparently found it equally impossible to conceive that a professional spy had found his undercover work invaluable.

"In any case," she went on, mustering a lighter tone, a smile, "mission: accomplished. Which, if memory serves, means you owe me a song and dance."

"I realize I'm older and a little closer to senility, but the way I remember it, _you_ were the one who was doing the dance. You definitely don't want to hear me sing."

"What other talents you got then, Doc?" Natasha asked, folding her arms as she stepped forward to lean against the elevator doorway, keeping it open.

"Besides pumping myself full of gamma radiation? I make a decent eggplant parmigiana." He tapped the grocery bags.

All at once, Natasha became aware that she'd worked up quite an appetite for carbs and fried stuff and tomato sauce; the top of a bottle of wine stuck out of the top of one bag, even though Tony kept the bar fully stocked at all times.

"And to think we had our victory meal after the Battle of New York at Shawarma Palace," she said, stepping fully out of the elevator.

"Actually I was thinking more in terms of gratitude. Or apology. Maybe a bit of both."

"You don't owe me either one. If anything, I owed you." When Bruce blinked at her in confusion, she went on: "Remember the Helicarrier? I swore to get you out of a Hulkout. Better late than never, right?"

"You say it like it's a joke," Bruce replied, shaking his head slowly, mouth twisted into a rueful smile, "like it's no big deal to you. But it is to me. Of course I remember the Helicarrier. Well. Some of it. The rest I have to imagine, but it's not that difficult to fill in the blanks. Or to imagine it happening again, somewhere. I'm grateful you stopped it."

As he said this, he'd backed up-unconsciously, Natasha thought- almost against the wall. Consciously, she took a step toward him.

"I didn't stop it. _You_ did. I only helped a little."

She reached out toward him, his gaze dropping to her hand as she closed her fingers around his wrist as she had on the mission. He didn't flinch like he did then, though she did feel the flutter of his pulse beneath the pads of her fingers, saw the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed, hard.

"I'm sorry if it took you back," he said, hoarsely.

For a moment Natasha studied him as he stared down at her hand around his wrist. Slowly, she uncurled her fingers as understanding dawned.

"Did you think I was traumatized?"

A bitter laugh rasped from his throat as his dark eyes flicked up to meet hers again. "I didn't mean it as an insult. It's a traumatic thing, being chased by a monster through a small confined space. The stuff of nightmares."

"Are you trying to get me to admit I was afraid of the Big Guy?"

He didn't deny it. He didn't look away, either. His jaw tensed, the muscles beneath his cheekbone flickering.

"Fine, I'll humor you," Natasha opened her hands wide, one still holding the tablet. "I woke up in a sweat a few nights. You know what? Now I wake up in a sweat because of the Winter Soldier. It's safe to assume that in my line of work, soon it'll be someone else chasing me in my nightmares."

"It's so comforting to know I'm just one of the things that keeps you up at night."

Natasha couldn't stop a smirk, and Bruce's sarcastic expression melted into self-consciousness.

"That…didn't come out like I meant it to."

"You're such a dork, Bruce." She moved to stand beside him, leaning against the wall, and nudged his shoulder with hers. The bag slipped off. "I don't mean that as an insult," she added, starting to push the strap back up, but he let it slide to the floor, did the same with the other one.

"Are you kidding? I prefer _dork_ to a lot of things you could call me."

"A traumatic experience isn't one of them," she said. "And I'm being honest again. Not nice."

"I believe you," Bruce said. "And I still think it's nice."

They stood quietly for a few minutes, side-by-side, their reflections distorted in the stainless steel elevator doors like images in a funhouse mirror.

After a moment, Natasha broke the silence. "Is that why you asked whether I'd be okay staying here? You were afraid I'd have flashbacks or something?"

"Isn't that why you asked whether _I_ would be?"

She turned her head to look at him, nonplussed. "No. I meant exactly what I said. I wanted to know whether you'd be okay with _me_."

Bruce mirrored her position, brow furrowed, clearly not understanding her meaning. For a smart guy, he sure did miss a lot sometimes.

"Because of SHIELD," she said. "Because of what I've done."

"Oh. That…never crossed my mind."

Natasha was relieved to hear it though, surprisingly, not as much as she should be. It didn't sit well with her that Bruce was so myopic that he felt like the lone Avenger with a dark past.

The only one who was a monster.

She looked at their hazy reflections again.

"I'm a thing that keeps people up at night, too," she said. "If I get to wipe the red from my ledger, so do you. As far as I'm concerned, you did when you showed up to fight."

"I appreciate that," Bruce said. "Really, I do. I hoped that would be the case when I joined the team, but I also hope that more violence isn't my only option for righting my wrongs. Believe it or not, I'm a pacifist. Our mission to the Fridge made me feel like maybe I could do that. Be that."

Natasha looked at him, feeling as if she were seeing him again for the first time, the shaggy-haired man in a shabby suit who couldn't possibly be the one and the same with the Hulk. Though she'd watched Bruce Banner transform before her very eyes, played the moment over in her mind like a recording, she still had trouble reconciling the unimposing height and build, the mild face whose warm brown eyes were crisscrossed with as many smile lines as troubled ones, and self-effacing half smile and the greying curly hair with his raging green counterpart. It spoke volumes that he could live with the Other Guy and remain so self-possessed. That he believed he could rise above what he'd been made to be. She'd never entertained such an idea about herself. Then again, what else did she have, apart from that _very specific skillset_?

As if in answer, her stomach growled, loudly.

"You know what else you can do?" she said.

Bruce bent to retrieve his shopping bags, hair falling over his forehead as he grinned up at her. "Make eggplant parmigiana."


	10. The Unemployment Line

Natasha paced the floor in front of her desk, phone clamped against her cheek. "That's everything she told you?" she spoke into it, gaze drifting over the top of her computer monitor to the bulletin board hanging above, crayon drawings pinned on with thumbtacks. Still the only personal touch in her room since Pepper Potts visited and commented on the lack of décor. She turned and made the path back toward the door. "There's nothing else?"

"Everything to the best of my memory," Pepper's voice crackled through the speaker at her ear. "Tony might remember a few more details, if you want to ask him."

Thank God this was just a regular phone conversation, not a video chat, as Natasha couldn't stop her mouth twisting at prospect of talking with Stark. It was more out of habit than dislike; she remembered what Bruce told her about how Tony took Coulson's death.

"But he partied with a record exec last night," Pepper breezed on, seemingly having a sixth sense for this sort of thing-no doubt the result of being with him so long that she anticipated other people's reactions to him, "so he's not really in the condition at the moment. If you feel you should speak to Audrey herself, then I'm sure she-"

"No," Natasha interrupted. "It's enough. Thanks for telling me, Pepper."

"I felt you should know. For what it's worth, Tony did, too. Call me if there's anything else we can do."

They must have exchanged closing remarks to end the call, but Natasha couldn't say what they were as she stood with the phone in her hand, lost in thought. Pepper's _we_ resonated in her mind, and not in a cynical sense about someone referring to themselves as a unit that included Tony Stark. Quite the opposite, in fact. Natasha admired people who found that kind of connection with another person, even if she didn't understand it entirely. Once more, she found herself staring Cooper and Lila's Avengers portraits above the desk.

Her thumb went to the home button on her phone, pressing it until it chimed. "Call Clint Barton, cell."

"Dialing Clint Barton's mobile, Ms. Romanoff," JARVIS' voice replied from the phone speaker.

He picked up on the first ring.

"What's up, Nat?"

"I need you to get your ass to New York _now_."

"Avengers assemble? Isn't Cap supposed to make that call?"

"SHIELD," Natasha replied.

Without hesitation, Clint said, "I'll ask Laura if I can come over and play."

* * *

Although Bruce had been so fully absorbed in the data in front of him that he hadn't noticed Natasha until JARVIS informed him she was standing outside the lab, her visit came as a welcome interruption. Despite the multiple files on multiple screens, he was getting nowhere fast with the scepter research. He minimized the windows with a swipe of his hand, took off his glasses and tucked them into his lab coat pocket, smoothed his hair as he went to the door, which JARVIS opened to admit her.

"Natasha. Hi."

Bruce took in her outfit, the usual dark skinny jeans paired with boots-ankle boots this time, instead of knee-high-and an eggplant colored tank top. Concessions to the late spring warmth, but the sleeveless top drew his gaze to the new scars in her shoulder where the Winter Soldier shot her. He didn't have to wait for her to turn to imagine the corresponding exit wound in the back. Did she think he needed her to illustrate the point she'd made about who she was afraid of? Because this clearly was for his benefit, given the lightweight khaki jacket draped over her arm.

"Going out?" he asked.

"To JFK. Clint's on his way."

Bruce clasped his hands together, made his expression neutral, interested. This wasn't unexpected, after all; when Natasha took refuge in the Tower, he thought it was only a matter of time before Barton did, too. He was an Avenger, and he and Natasha were…close.

"To stay?"

"We have a meeting with Maria Hill."

"Ah." He unfolded his hands, laced his fingers back together the other way. "Pepper called you?"

"Tony called you."

It wasn't a question, yet the accompanying level stare made him feel he should answer.

"I mean, he didn't really give me any details. Just that apparently SHIELD's not totally gone. Though that's not really a surprise, is it, since Maria sent us to the Fridge?"

Natasha gave a slight jerk of her chin which he took to mean she conceded the point. Emboldened, he asked a question of his own.

"Clint's not…? You said about…the Toolshed?"

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she stopped the smile before it could really start, though not before Bruce felt sufficiently idiotic for attempting to talk shop with her. One undercover mission in a bald cap and fake beard did not a spy make. He unclasped his hands and shoved them into the hip pockets of his lab coat.

"No," Natasha said. "Clint's not working with underground SHIELD. Hence the meeting. If it's not us, we want to know who the hell _is_. Want to come?"

"Not particularly," Bruce mumbled, looking down at his shoes. At Natasha's sharp laugh, his head snapped up again. "Sorry, that sounded rude."

"I'm not offended."

Maybe not, but she didn't seem exactly amused, either. Withdrawing his hands from his pockets, he opened them in what he meant to be a conciliatory gesture. "I only mean that…I'd prefer to stay out of it."

"I thought you said you liked how the Fridge mission gave you a way to help without violence."

"It did," he replied, carefully, "and I'm glad, but…SHIELD business isn't really mine, is it?"

"Unless it's paid contract work?"

For a moment, he didn't know what she was talking about, then decided she must be referring to the Retreat, the cabin Nick Fury asked him to fit out with vibranium and other updated security measures for the _protection_ of other _gifted individuals. Containment_ was probably the more accurate term, and Bruce resisted the pull of his fingers to curl into fists at the memory of becoming suddenly enraged over this fact as he worked there and punching one of the new walls. Had Fury ever discovered that perfect Hulk fist embedded in the metal behind the oak paneling?

"I'll let you get back to work," Natasha's voice cut into his musings. "Just thought I'd let you know we'd have another roommate."

She pivoted to go, revealing a flash of the scar at the edge of her racerback tank before she threw her jacket over her shoulders. _The exit wound_.

"Natasha, wait." He darted after her, catching the door with his shoulder. "I said something wrong, didn't I?"

"This isn't a test, Bruce. There are no right or wrong answers."

* * *

Maria agreed to meet them in the conference room in the Avengers' part of the Tower, although the Avengers themselves disagreed about whether to call it that. _Isn't it more of a war room?_ Steve had asked when Tony gave them a tour of the repurposed facilities not long after the Battle of New York. Thor voiced his hearty approval, though he had all the sensitivity of a Labrador retriever and, when Bruce blanched at the word _war_ , suggested the more diplomatic, if antiquated, _council chambers_. Tony liked that and its implication of king-like authority and godly wisdom. Clint said he didn't give a damn what they called it, and Natasha agreed.

Now, they sat side-by-side at the polished table, backs to the view of Manhatten, arms folded over their chests as they eyed Maria Hill across from them. She wore the same poised, neutral expression as at the Senate hearings, which almost made Natasha feel guilty for putting her through another one of sorts. _Almost_. It was also exactly how Maria looked that day in her office, when she met her eyes and lied to her without flinching.

That would do for a starting point.

"Remember that case I was asking you about?" Natasha dived right in without preamble. "Before you sent Bruce and me to the Fridge?"

"Case?"

"Cut the crap, Maria," said Clint.

_That_ got her goat. Unclasping her hands, she mirrored his posture. "You've adjusted quickly to me not being your superior."

"Have you?"

"I didn't ask Clint to fly in so we could argue semantics." Natasha unfolded her arms, placed her fingertips on the manila file that lay in front of her on the table and slid it across the buffed surface to Maria. "Light in the Darkness: Part Two. Marcus Daniels _was_ responsible for those power outages in Portland. I have a full statement from Audrey Nathan that he approached her in her neighborhood. A team of SHIELD agents took her into protective custody and eventually stopped him. Or if you want to split hairs, they blasted him to tiny pieces. With some of Banner's tech, in fact."

She couldn't resist adding that last part, still annoyed with him about the previous day's conversation. If only he'd agreed to sit in on this meeting, purely so she could see his face when she mentioned that. Even without him here, she could imagine him looking up suddenly, gaze darting from face to face around the table, opening and closing his mouth as he cast about for a response, finally settling on something like, _Is it necessary to bring_ me _into this?_

"I don't know anything about Daniels." Maria gave Clint a pointed look and added, "That's not crap."

"But you do know there's a SHIELD team operating underground," he returned, leaning back in his chair.

Maria didn't answer right away. After a moment, she uttered a soft but steady, "Yes."

"Presumably you passed the intel we gathered from the Fridge along to them?" Natasha asked.

"Yes." No pause that time, her voice at normal volume.

"And you didn't think I should know? That Clint should know? Two Agents of SHIELD?"

"Two of the _best_ Agents of SHIELD," Clint added.

Maria's nostrils flared slightly as she drew a deep breath, as if to rein in her temper. "No. Even if I did, it came from above me."

"From Fury," Natasha said.

Maria had no response to that, verbal or otherwise. Did the non-reaction mean that there was nothing to hide, or that she was hiding something huge? Natasha glanced at Clint, but he was hung up a step back in the conversation.

"We could've helped," he said. "Damn it, Maria, I was on the team that put Daniels in the Fridge the first time."

"We can still help," Natasha added.

"No." Maria pushed backward in her chair, placed her palms on the table and stood. "You can't. You're not Agents of SHIELD anymore."

Natasha winced, the words striking true, like a bullet or a knife.

"You're Avengers. With Talbot and Ross and the whole goddamn government sniffing around, the Avengers _have_ to remain separate from SHIELD."

That was the end, but Natasha couldn't give Maria the last word. "So separate we share a building?"

"Nat…" said Clint in a low tone, not quite his dad voice, but close. An indulgent older brother, warning her she was about to get herself in big trouble, maybe. He curled a hand over her wrist.

Maria picked up the manila folder, opened it, flicked through the pages without looking at them. "Maybe we shouldn't."

She placed the file back on the table, sliding it around beneath her fingertips, as if she meant to pass it back to Natasha. She didn't.

"Are you going to suggest Tony find a new location for Stark Industries?" Natasha asked.

"I'm going to suggest _you_ get more distance, until the Avengers are called."

"And when will that be?"

"When we need you."

* * *

Clint reached for a slice of pizza from the box on the coffee table, then settled back into a corner of the sectional.

"You know, Nat, maybe Maria's right."

In her own corner, she kept her eyes on the TV as she chewed. The twin brothers on screen looked more like they should be modeling than _re_ modeling, but then the channel's target audience was probably housewives over thirty. And Clint. Swallowing, she swung her gaze down to the other end of the sofa, arching an eyebrow.

"You're good with being benched?"

"You know what?" Clint answered around a bite. "After the couple years I've had? I really am."

He stuffed the rest of the slice into his mouth, then slid to the edge of the cushion again to grab another and his beer. Natasha watched him eat and drink, his eyes on the _Property Brothers_ but his thoughts turned inward. She knew he still felt guilty for being away from home so much on Project PEGASUS while Lila was little, and after the mind control ordeal it took him a long time, an extended leave of absence jetting back and forth between the farm and Andrew Garner's office in DC for therapy, before he felt that his mental space was his own again. But when he was finally cleared to resume field work, she thought he was glad to be back.

He hadn't been back for long when he learned that job, too, was compromised.

Greasy pizza and guilt settled uneasily in the pit of Natasha's stomach. She put her half-eaten slice back in the box, then curled up at her end of the sectional, beer resting on one of her knees as she hugged them to her chest.

"Easy for you to say. You've got a farm and a family to go to till you're called up for active duty."

It dripped with self-pity, and she was annoyed with herself for saying it. She wasn't sure at first if Clint even heard it, because he stayed glued to the screen where the twin who designed was currently showing a couple his plans to restore their old kitchen, which had last been remodeled in the 70s, to its former Victorian glory-but with modern updates that would impress even Stark. What kind of budgets did these people have? There was a gleam in Clint's eye which she recognized as inspiration, another item added to his never-ending to-do list.

When the show broke for commercial, he muted the TV and turned to her, stretching out his legs so he could nudge her toes with his foot.

"That's what I mean about Maria being right," he said as though there had been no lapse in conversation. "I know, you don't want to impose, but maybe you should come with me."

There was an urgency to his voice, concern etched in the lines of his face, which made it difficult for her to maintain eye contact, though of course she didn't allow herself to look away.

"And do what?" she retorted. "Help you build the toolshed?"

"Finished that. Thinking about scraping off old wallpaper next."

"I just don't get the appeal of fixer-uppers. If I'm going to settle down, I'd rather have a place that's move-in ready."

"It's about making it your own," Clint said, "through blood, sweat, and occasionally tears when the renovation process almost ruins your mar-"

He broke off when he noticed Natasha was looking past him, twisting to see at what. Bruce hovered in the doorway, his expression an apology for the intrusion. In fact as soon as he'd seen them in the room he started to go, but after Natasha caught his eye he couldn't without looking rude. Despite her lingering annoyance with him, she was glad to be interrupted as Clint had clearly been gearing up for a speech.

"Hey, Banner," he greeted, without much enthusiasm, probably disappointed at not getting to deliver it. "Been a while."

"How's it going…Barton?"

Bruce's eyes darted from to Natasha as he stepped further into the room, toward the sectional where Clint reached out to shake hands. She wasn't sure what to blame for the awkwardness. Was it Clint, whom Bruce didn't know well, or her, because of their spat?

"Well, you know," Clint replied, dropping hands and reaching for the remote to un-mute the TV. "Unemployment."

Bruce gave a nod of empathy.

"Pizza?" Clint offered.

Again, Bruce glanced at Natasha, as if asking permission to accept this invite when he'd refused her last one. "I was just going to the kitchen to scrounge something up…"

"Scrounge here." Clint slid the pizza box down the coffee table, grabbing Natasha's abandoned slice. "You gonna finish this?"

She shook her head, and he crammed it into his mouth, swinging his feet up onto the table on the other side of the pizza box. Bruce bent, squinting behind his glasses as he debated for a moment over which slice to take, finally settling on one of the small ones. After a moment's befuddlement over the lack of anything to put it on, picked up a napkin and then commenced to waffle over where to sit. Between them? Or in the club chair on the other side of Natasha? It would have been funny if she weren't irritated with him. Maybe it still was. Maybe she wasn't as irritated with him as she thought. She nursed her beer and tried not to smile.

Eventually he settled for leaning against the arm of the sectional nearest the door, and turned his attention to the TV as he ate.

"Home and garden channel?" He glanced dubiously down at Clint. "Researching potential new careers?"

"Potential new projects," Natasha replied, glad Bruce knew this wasn't _her_ choice of programming.

He shook his head at the TV. "These guys can't actually be contractors. They're too attractive."

"People probably say the same thing about you and Stark," Natasha said.

Out the corner of her eye she saw him blink at her, then look away, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"About Stark, maybe," he muttered.

"Naw, these guys do everything," Clint said. "And look good doing it. You handy?"

"Me?" Bruce barked out a laugh. "Demolition's more my thing."

Although Natasha smiled slightly at his self-effacement, Clint's face was set in the same blank expression as the rare occasions he watched Leno when nothing else was on, or when Cooper was on a knock-knock joke kick.

"Riiiight," he said, and turned back to the TV.

Natasha did, too, nursing her beer and trying to release herself to the mindless distraction of the unnaturally handsome twin contractor and realtor, but she'd never been good at escape, unless life or death situations were involved. Her brain was working overtime to process her conversations with Clint and Maria. Maybe they were right, both of them, as much as she hated to admit it, especially in light of Maria's subterfuge.

As she watched the _Property Brothers_ help upper-middle class couples create the homes of their dreams, there was one thing she was sure of: scraping wallpaper at the Barton farm might give her something to do, but it wasn't going to help her wipe her ledger clean.


	11. The Breakfast Club

"I'm having flashbacks to Desert State," Bruce said, entering the kitchen where Natasha sat at the bar. She hunched over a bowl, scrolling through her tablet on its kickstand in front of her. Her eyes flicked up to him as she chewed; at once he ran a hand through his hair, which was standing on end, and over his chin, which was stubbly. He cleared his throat, continued with his story and on his way through the kitchen. "When I was an undergrad. I'd stumble into my apartment after all-nighters in the lab to find my roommates in the kitchen, having breakfast before their classes."

Half the time he hadn't even realized it _was_ breakfast, cereal likely to be consumed at any meal, or at any time in between. That wasn't the case with Natasha, of course, and in fact he was a little surprised now at the time that glowed in turquoise digitals on the face of the stainless steel double ovens. He peered through the kitchen to the adjoining dining room, where the silhouette of the Empire State Building and its neighboring skyscrapers against the orangey-pink backdrop of the sunrise confirmed he'd been in the lab all night. No wonder his stomach was growling.

"Of course this kitchen's a little nicer than the one in our crappy little apartment," he added, aware that Natasha was still watching him. "We never had a working stove. It was anyone's guess what the oven temperature actually was."

"Do college students actually use ovens and stoves?" she finally joined the conversation, although he hadn't really expected her to. "I thought it was just nuking cups of ramen."

"If you'd seen our microwave, you'd know why that wasn't an option. It looked like a toxic waste dump in there. I was afraid something terrible might happen to me if I made physical contact. Should've chanced it."

Apart from a soft huff of a laugh, Natasha didn't reply. She returned her eyes to her tablet as she scooped yogurt with berries and granola onto her spoon, and Bruce opened the fridge, attempting to distract himself from the awkward silence that inevitably followed his lame attempts at joking about his _condition_ with the decision of what to eat. Bacon and eggs sounded more appealing, but yogurt would allow for a quicker escape back to the safe environs of the lab…

"You don't need to pull all-nighters on the scepter," her voice unexpectedly interrupted his breakfast debate. "If that's what you were working on."

"I think I'm on to something, finally. Maybe." He glanced over his shoulder. "Sorry it's been slow going."

Her eyes were turned up to him again, brows arched incredulously. "It's been, what, four days since we were at the Fridge? I'm well aware that science isn't magic. Not that it matters."

Bruce turned around with a carton of eggs and a sense of confusion.

"According to Maria Hill," Natasha went on in clipped syllables, jaw tensed, "the secret underground SHIELD that doesn't include me are handling it. They have their own intel."

"Oh." Bruce nudged the fridge doors shut. "Is that why Barton didn't stick around?"

He hoped that wasn't too personal, or rubbing salt in her wounds. The visit hadn't given Bruce any real clues into the nature of their relationship, though he did wonder whether the briefness of it contributed any way to Natasha's having been more withdrawn since then. Like she had been when she first came to stay at the Tower.

But her reply was nonchalant. "He has places to go, people to see."

"Home improvement shows to watch?" Bruce ventured, and was rewarded with Natasha's crooked grin. "I have to admit," he went on as he reached into the cupboard to the right of the stove and took out a skillet, placed it on the range and turned on the gas flame with a pop and a hiss, "that was not what I expected from him. Not that I know him all that well…"

"Clint's just full of surprises."

"I guess you all have to be."

"Tough to be a spy without any."

Bruce stood at the stove, could almost feel the weight of her words at his back. Should he tell her? That she still had her secrets, from him at least. That he hadn't read her files because the very fact that she'd leaked them at all proved how sincere she was about wanting to right her wrongs. _Can you wipe out that much red? Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing…_ That he owed her that much, after he almost killed her. They'd already laid the Helicarrier incident to rest, though, and he doubted Natasha had patience for repeated apologies for offenses already forgiven. And he hadn't had enough sleep for the kind of conversation this might lead to, anyway.

He cracked an egg on the side of the skillet, and the yolk sizzled on the hot surface.

"I was surprised you stayed when he didn't." Turning to throw the eggshells away, he met Natasha's smirk.

"Contrary to popular belief, Clint and I aren't actually joined at the hip."

Bruce reached up to adjust his glasses, smearing a little egg on the lenses and the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean to presume-"

"His idea of a training room is a pull-up bar in a doorway and a wide open field where he can shoot miniscule targets at very long range. I've gotten a little attached to ours. Although I'd appreciate it if you don't tell Stark."

She kept a straight face, but there was no hiding the twinkle in her eye.

"Contrary to popular belief," Bruce replied, "Tony and I aren't actually joined at the hip."

He raised his eyebrows as he pulled off his smudged glasses to wipe them on the tail of his half-untucked shirt. Natasha was the first to crack. For a moment Bruce stood there, grinning back at her.

"You might want to watch your eggs," she said.

He pivoted back to the stove, grabbing the spatula to give them a stir just as they were beginning to stick. Conversation lapsed as he concentrated on cooking, but he felt the silence was a companionable one. Nevertheless, when he set his plate next to her bowl on the bar, he hesitated to draw out the other stool and sit beside her.

"We're good, right?" he asked, just to be sure. "Everything between us…it's okay?"

Natasha looked up from her tablet, confusion drawn plainly across her brow. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"The other day…when you asked me if I wanted to come to your meeting with Maria Hill."

Sighing heavily, she turned her tablet face-down. Bruce took a step backward as she swiveled on her stool to look up at him.

"That wasn't about you," she said. "That was about me taking my frustration out on you."

"Good. I mean, not good that you're frustrated, good that I wasn't the cause of it." He watched his fingers trace the back of the stool. "I sometimes handle my friends as delicately as the Other Guy handles…everything."

"You and me both," she said, voice husky. "I'm sorry. I won't keep making you my punching bag."

"Apology accepted, though not really necessary." She gave him that little smile again as he sat on his barstool. "I'm not a bad sounding board, if you ever want to talk. Although Tony would say otherwise."

"Thanks, but I think right now I'll go take some frustration out on an actual punching bag."

* * *

Although Natasha had awakened feeling keyed up after a fitful night's tossing and turning, knowing from experience that workout would be the only way to effectively channel her pent-up energy, once she actually made it down to the gym, she couldn't find her usual attack rhythm. Her punches were sluggish, her reflexes slow, and not from lack of sleep.

Turned out, her heart just wasn't in beating the shit out of inanimate objects when her thoughts kept drifting to Bruce calling her his friend.

She'd lived most of her life without friends, Clint being the first, so it still came as some surprise when people expressed that level of trust in her. The most recent addition was Steve, with his typical straight-forward way of _asking_ her to be his friend, as if it were a role to play. No, not that. She kicked the bag. A choice to make. Which, she supposed, wasn't far off from Clint.

What would make Bruce choose her, after the way they began? Maybe not quite as badly as Clint being assigned to kill her, but then again she had pulled a gun on him. This was different, though. Not a conscious decision to change the way things were between them, more like a subtle shift that occurred without their either having been aware of it. When Bruce said _friend_ , she felt like he'd looked that day when New York City was coming down all around them and she told him they needed his help.

On impulse, before she could second-guess herself, Natasha went up to the lab.

"You own a pair of sneakers, Banner?" she asked, getting right to it.

It seemed like such a ridiculous inquiry for a man wearing a lab coat and glasses perched atop unruly greying curls, and Bruce's response sounded more like he was asking a question than answering one.

"Yes…"

"Then go put 'em on and meet me in the gym."

"What?" He laughed, but when Natasha didn't join in, went abruptly quiet; his hands-restless, always moving, found their way into his pockets. "You want me to work out with you?"

The emphasis he placed on _me_ gave her a little twinge of regret that his self-doubt was in fact an echo of her own thoughts just the moment before.

"You're an Avenger," she said as she approached him: chin up, shoulders back, defying any expression to cross her face but that of total confidence in him. "Even if SHIELD is functioning in some capacity, it's not what it was. It won't be able to hold off Hydra forever, even if it were our only threat. They're going call in the big guns. Whenever that is…we need be ready for it."

"I appreciate that, really I do, but…I'm the science guy." He indicated the lab with a sweep of his hand. "The Other Guy's the guns."

"You could have guns, too," Natasha said with a nod at his arm, which was still upraised to rake his fingers through his hair. It fell to his side and he glanced away, catching his bottom lip in his teeth. Unable to stop herself smiling, she hoped he didn't think she was making fun of him.

"Don't get stuck in this you're the brains, he's the brawn box," she went on. "At SHIELD the scientist division has a physical component, too, since agents can be required for field work at any time."

This was, of course, completely not the way to win Bruce over to her side. His jaw muscle flexed beneath the silvery stubble, and his reply was tight. "I don't think I need to remind you I don't work for SHIELD."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Fine. Tony's a science guy, and he works out."

"Yeah, but he has to fit in the suit."

"Actually I think he mainly works out because Pepper tells him to."

"Okay, see, there you go," Bruce said, gesticulating again. "Tony has a girlfriend. I don't."

"Not at the moment. Who's to say you won't in the future?"

"Me."

Natasha had to hand it to him for saying that and not sounding self-pitying. He didn't even sound resigned, just… _final_. That was what made it so sad.

What happened with Betty Ross? Besides the obvious, that Bruce turned into a monster and nearly killed her, and her father was hunting him. Natasha might have asked, but she read his body language clearly: arms folded, shoulders hunched, brows knit over eyes, lips pinched together and jaw tensed. He was not only closed-off, he was angry, or would be if she pursued this topic. While she no longer feared that his anger automatically led to Hulkrage, she still didn't want to make him angry. That wasn't what friends did.

"You and Rogers," she muttered, with a shake of her head. She had her work cut out for her with these two.

Bruce actually darted a sideways glance at her, clearly wondering what she meant about Steve. Natasha knew an impending subject change when she saw one, and nipped it in the bud.

"Okay, Bill Nye," she said, "you of all of the Avengers should appreciate the many health benefits of exercise. Among them, that it improves emotional control and mental acuity. I don't think I need to comment on the first. As for the second…Don't you want to be an even better science guy?"

Above the white noise of hard drives and monitors and other lab equipment humming, Natasha heard the rasp of stubble as Bruce rubbed his hand over his chin. Realizing how close she'd come to stand in front of him, she started to take a step backward, only to be arrested as his dark eyes snapped up and caught hers.

"There's no way I'm going to win this argument, is there?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't even bother trying if I were you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week I'll be traveling and unable to update, but I'll be back on schedule August with Chapter 12. Until then, I hope this all-Bruce and Natasha chapter tides you over! Thanks again for following my work and all the thoughtful and supportive comments which make it such a pleasure to share. <3


	12. Let's Get Physical

Bruce gritted his teeth, his concentration as focused on not baring them in a grimace as it was on pushing the barbell up from his chest. He managed, but couldn't stop a grunt behind his closed lips as his elbows extended fully.

"You've got this, Big Guy," Natasha's voice rasped from above, where she stood at the head of the weight bench, spotting for him.

Beneath his furrowed brow, he kept his eyes focused on her hands. Skin pale against the black leather of her fingerless gloves, they hovered just beneath the bar, never quite touching it to help him lift it onto the rack or even to balance it for him. His biceps trembled. They were sore, but then wasn't every muscle in his body?

Although he wasn't able to argue his way out of working out with Natasha, he convinced her to put it off till the following morning, under the guise of needing sleep. Of course, he'd lain awake a good part of the night anxious about the coming gym session. But he survived it, and here he was, on the fourth day of a new workout regimen.

The barbell clanked onto the pegs, and Bruce huffed out the breath he'd been holding.

"And ten," Natasha said and turned to adjust the weights for her own turn on the bench press.

Bruce didn't budge , but lay there rubbing his aching jaw. He really needed to quit grinding his teeth.

"This takes me back to high school PE," he joked, voicing coming out a little stiff from the muscle tension. "I keep thinking you're going to make me climb a rope."

In fact it wasn't at all like gym class, where every day was a lesson in public humiliation rather than physical education. He expected nothing less from a workout session with Natasha, who was the terrifying coach and pretty coed in this scenario rolled into one. He probably ought to have his head examined because his primary concern about training with an assassin-turned-special-agent was that he would make a fool of himself in front of her. If she did think him foolish, she kept the thought to herself, even masked it from her facial expressions. Wise, considering the alter ego likely to emerge if anyone seemed to be picking on _puny Banner_.

"College the other day, high school today," she mused. "Are you always this nostalgic?"

Bruce looked up. She paused sliding a weight off the barbell to look down at him with one of her little lopsided smiles.

" _Me_?" He said, incredulous. _About_ my _past?_ "Not hardly."

Running his hand upward from his jaw, he felt the moisture slickening his skin, plastering his hair to his forehead. He grabbed the hem of his t-shirt, bending his head as he drew it up to wipe his brow. When he lay back again, still clutching his shirt, Natasha's gaze had left his face. She was staring at the hair which trailed downward from his exposed navel and disappeared into the band of his sweatpants. Quickly he lowered his shirt again, heat prickling across his cheekbones. For once in his life, he was glad his face got bright red when he exercised.

"Does that mean when you're with me, you feel young?" she asked.

Bruce choked on a laugh. "Believe me, kid," he said as he scooted himself down the bench, past the bar so he could ease himself upright, wincing at the protest of his abdominal muscles, " _young_ is definitely not how I'd describe the way I feel right now."

"If it's any consolation, I don't, either."

Metal scraped against metal as Natasha slid a weight onto the bar. Bending to reach for his water bottle on the floor, he watched her black Nikes with purple laces come around the edge of the bench. She spoke again as she lowered herself to sit beside him, voice husky:

"I've never felt young. Not even when I was."

The water rolled down Bruce's throat, and he swallowed it painfully as his thoughts turned to the little girl who'd lured him to the hovel in Kolkata, where Natasha awaited him. Like a spider, weaving a web for her prey, he'd thought afterward, once he knew who she was. But there had been no guile on her face when she told him she'd been a spy from that tender age. Funny, he'd never thought to question the truth of that, even when it became clear other parts of that conversation were lies.

"Obviously that's not a consolation," her voice drew him back to the present setting of the gym. Maybe she was right about him being nostalgic.

"No." His voice cracked a little, like the adolescent in PE. "It's not, at all."

How _could_ there be any comfort in a woman's childhood having been stolen in exchange for being made into a weapon? The hairs stood as he felt a snarl at the back of his mind as the Other Guy stirred. The Other Guy, who in part had been made to protect another child whose innocence was taken away.

Although what he felt at the moment was unusual, not precisely the anger he was accustomed to rousing the Hulk.

Bruce pushed to his feet, calves and thighs protesting, still sore from his lower body workout two days ago. He tried not to hobble around to the head of the bench.

"Sorry," Natasha said, lying back. "Didn't mean to be such a downer." Flexing her fingers around the barbell, she smirked. "Guess I'm still a bit Russian after all. You're doing great, by the way."

"Thanks. For convincing me to do this. It's good to get a change of scenery sometimes."

"Is that your way of saying you want me to be your lab partner?"

All the talk of high school made Bruce think of how his teenaged self would have reacted to a proposition like that from a girl like Natasha. More embarrassingly than anything that ever happened to him in PE, probably.

"You made a pretty convincing scientist at the Fridge, Dr. Vance."

"It's _Ms._ Vance, remember, _Dr. Huxley_? You recruited me for SHIELD before I finished my Ph.D."

"That's right. See, you're already a better scientist than I am a spy."

"You liked that whole professor, protégé dynamic we had going on?" Her voice pitched low.

His throat tightened. "We had a dynamic?"

"Apparently not."

Natasha looked amused and Bruce, feeling a little off-balance from the brief flirtation-if it had been that-tried to laugh it off.

"Tony would be so jealous if he got back to find you in the lab."

The more likely scenario was that Tony would give him hell when he got back and discovered Bruce had a new workout routine…and a new workout partner. Could he possibly keep it secret? If anyone could, it would be Natasha.

She _hmm_ ed. "Or suspicious. I don't think Stark's ever really gotten over me not actually being his assistant."

"He hasn't gotten over me not actually being his therapist, either. Guy knows how to hold a grudge."

The playfulness faded from Natasha's face, leaving a blank mask of concentration as she gripped the bar and pushed up. Bruce helped her lift it off the rack, letting go when he felt that it was stabilized over her chest. He diverted his gaze from her sports bra to the shoulder with the gunshot wound. For a few repetitions he watched to make sure the weight of the barbell wasn't a strain, but her movements were smooth. He studied her face, too, for signs of being in pain; although she didn't appear to be, that of course didn't mean she wasn't.

"What about you?" he asked after she pushed the bar up for the tenth time and re-racked it. "Is this helping?"

"My shoulder?" She pressed her elbow across her chest to stretch the shoulder joint.

"No," he said quickly, embarrassed that she'd been aware of his gaze. "I mean, yeah, I hope all this training isn't aggravating your injury, but I was actually referring to your…" How had she put it? "…mental acuity."

When she gripped the barbell and began another set, Bruce thought she wasn't going to answer. The only sounds for some time were the sharp steady puffs of her breath, the clang of the bar on the rack when she completed the set, the glug of her water bottle as she drank. Then, as she stared up at the ceiling, her softly rasping voice almost startled him.

"Not sharp enough to figure out what the hell Maria Hill's keeping from me," she replied, as though there had been no break in the conversation. "Or who. She sent us me to the Fridge as a distraction, presumably because I was close to discovering secret SHIELD."

"Sounds reasonable," Bruce said. Not that he knew, but Natasha didn't seem like the kind of person who was very often _un_ reasonable. "You haven't been in contact with _any_ other agents? Former agents, I mean…Barton…?"

"There weren't many we knew for sure we could trust. A lot of those are off the grid, or dead. And those who aren't may not trust _me_."

Her eyes rolled up to his, briefly, and the corner of her mouth quirked in a bitter smile. Something inside Bruce twisted, too.

"You did what you had to do, Natasha."

As a former target of Project Insight, he had a personal stake in this.

She set her jaw, nodded, and gripped the barbell once again.

"The thing I keep running up against," she said after she completed the set, "is why the hell didn't Nick just _tell_ me? Even if I have to distance myself from SHIELD to be an Avenger…why the subterfuge?"

"Wait." Bruce felt the same sense of mental whiplash he often did when talking to Tony. "Did you say _Nick_? As in-"

"Fury." She slid out from beneath the bar and sat up in a fluid movement. "Reports of his death have been greatly exaggerated."

"I see."

The throb returned to Bruce's cheek as he ground his teeth again. He bit back the urge to comment on the SHIELD director's own trust issues, if he was willing to do something as drastic as fake his death.

"Hey, Natasha. Let's get out of here."

"Done working out?"

"Literally, out. Of the Tower. We've both been cooped up in here too long. Let's get some fresh perspective on this. Or at the very least, fresh air."

A dark red eyebrow hitched upward on Natasha's high forehead. "You sure _you_ aren't in cahoots with Maria? She says I need some distance."

"Not in cahoots. But in this case, in agreement."

Natasha's reply was the sound of tearing Velcro as she unstrapped her gloves.

* * *

"You do realize this completely negates our workout, right?" Natasha said, not so much a question as a comment as she speared gooey apple and flakey crust with her fork.

Bruce shrugged, said around a bite of pie, "Depends on your reason for the workout. Were you exercising for weight loss? Then maybe."

"Mental acuity. Emotional control. Getting fighting fit."

"I never explicitly agreed to any of those reasons." Bruce swallowed and reached for his coffee.

"Oh really?" Still holding her forkful of apple pie, Natasha leaned back in the metal chair and eyed him across the round patio table. "Okay then, Banner, enlighten me. What _are_ your reasons for working out?"

"Reason, singular." He gestured to his plate. "The pie doesn't negate the workout. The workout enables the guilt-free enjoyment of pie. Plus, there was that fifteen-minute walk here from the Tower. And a fifteen-minute walk back again. Win-win."

Natasha looked skeptical, but put the bite in her mouth at last. "It is really good pie," she said, mouth full. "And a really nice place."

Her gaze drifted to take in their surroundings: a walled, paved courtyard canopied by honey locust trees which admitted the dappled sunlight while simultaneously blocking out the newly constructed condominiums that rose above the park, hedged with sculpted shrubberies and the last azaleas of spring, vivid pink against the dark green foliage and fragrant; the focal point, a twenty-five foot tall waterfall all but drowned out the noise of midtown Manhattan, as well as the conversations of the dozen or so other patrons of Greenacre Park.

For a moment Bruce sat silently, taking advantage of Natasha's inattention to him to enjoy the serene expression that settled over her features, before it occurred to him that just because she appeared to be focused on other things didn't mean she wasn't fully aware of everything happening around her. Especially from the close proximity of a table for two.

"I thought you of all people might appreciate one of the city's best kept secrets," he said, scooping pie onto his fork.

"When did you find it?"

"Not long after the Battle of New York. I needed some mental space, like today. Only it seemed like I was searching in vain, because everywhere I walked there was destruction. Or _con_ struction. I couldn't hear myself think any clearer than I could with Tony blasting AC/DC in the lab."

He chuckled now, but then it had been disheartening to see the extent of the damages to the city. Most of it done by the Chitauri, he knew that, but the Other Guy did his share, too. As if the Harlem Terror wasn't enough.

Feeling Natasha watching him, he realized he was picking at the plastic lid of his coffee cup with his fingernail. He took a drink, meeting her eyes again as he resumed his story.

"That water feature at the entrance?" He assumed it hadn't escaped her notice. "It was almost the only thing on this whole side of the street that was totally undamaged. I had to check out what was back here."

"A park."

"A _sanctuary_. I don't think there's a church in this whole city as peaceful."

"Or that serves hot apple pie at the snack bar."

"That, too."

"So…" Natasha drew out the word as she slid to the front of her chair and leaned her arms on the table. "You come here often?"

Bruce started to reply that he walked over on a semi-regular basis, to read or just to think-and eat a slice of apple pie-when he recognized the playful glint in her eye as she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

"Every now and then," he played along. "Never brought anyone with me before."

"You sure do know how to make a girl feel special."

As she held his gaze, the roar of the waterfall receded, muffled by the rush of blood in his ears. When he managed to finally tear his eyes away, they darted around the park, looking everywhere but at her, at last settling on his half-eaten slice of pie. He picked up his fork, only to set it down again on his plate with a clink. It didn't seem right to eat at a moment like this, even if it weren't for the butterflies in his stomach.

"It's just that…I know what you're going through, Natasha."

He paused to gauge her reaction, but he couldn't read the slightly faded version of the smile from their little banter which she wore as she waited patiently for him to continue. Withdrawing his hands into his lap, he rubbed his sweaty palms on the legs of his slacks, and forged ahead.

"I know what it's like to feel…adrift. To be at a loss to atone for everything you've done. What makes you so sure the only way to do that is to fight?"

"Look, Bruce. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but after the Hulk smashes stuff, you can do your research, go all Doctors Without Borders if that makes you feel better. I'm not like you. I was trained to lie and to kill."

 _You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers_.

For the second time that day, Bruce felt the rumble of the Other Guy in his mind. Apparently he had some latent Loki issues.

"You're not lying now," he said.

She considered this. "Here's something else that's not a lie," she said, almost in challenge. "I don't even know who I am. My whole identity is lost in all the lies I've told."

"Then find yourself."

The idea occurred spontaneously, but after he voiced it he feared it sounded flippant rather than profound.

"Find myself."

Clearly from the way she parroted it back at him, deadpan, Natasha thought it was stupid, or at the very most, was skeptical. Although he'd spoken off-the-cuff, Bruce stuck by what he'd said.

"You've got the time."

Natasha sat back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest. She crossed her legs, bumping his with her foot beneath the table.

"You make me sound like a college student taking a year off from school to go off in search of adventure and inspiration."

Bruce shrugged. "We are in New York."

"That's only slightly less clichéd than Paris."

"Sorry."

He glanced away again, but another nudge of Natasha's foot against his leg, gentle, intentional this time, drew him back. Her smile was soft, as was her voice.

"Don't be. You're a smart guy, Doc. If I can't take your advice, whose can I? And a little experiment never hurt anyone, did it?"

"Well…" Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. "I wouldn't go that far."

"I think I'm probably safe with pie in the park."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greenacre Park is a real place you can visit in Manhattan. When I discovered it online, I thought it seemed like just the sort of quiet place Bruce would go when he was in need of escape. If you [check it out](http://www.yelp.com/biz/greenacre-park-new-york), I think you'll agree. And if you take a moment to comment, Bruce and Natasha will take you with them next time they get a hankering for apple pie and coffee. ;)


	13. What Once Was Lost

It wasn't just pie in the park.

They did go back to Greenacre Park-nearly every day, in fact, if the weather allowed, to talk or to read or just to be quiet…and doze off on a bench, in Bruce's case-and they did have more apple pie-although he went off it slightly after he found out it came frozen from Costco.

"Did you honestly think they were baking pies from scratch in a snack bar?" Natasha asked, trying not to reveal her amusement at his disillusionment, but not quite succeeding because this was apparently something of a betrayal to him, and that was hilarious to her. "Anyway, does it matter if it's actually fresh if it tastes like it?"

Bruce's vaguely horrified expression only made her want to tease him more. Or ruffle his hair, though she resisted the urge and settled for the former.

"What's more American than apple pie and warehouse membership stores?"

"Only Steve Rogers and baseball," he replied with a heavy sigh.

Natasha smiled-at him and at an idea that came to her.

After the next morning's workout, he said, as usual, "Park for lunch?"

"Do we need to find a new one, since Greenacre let you down?" His mouth opened in retort, but before he could get it out, she went on, "Because if we do, I know one. A _ball_ park, anyway."

She produced two tickets.

"Are those Yankees tickets?"

"This afternoon's game. Are _you_ game?"

He was, which both pleased and intrigued Natasha; she hadn't been sure he would go to as crowded a place as a major league baseball stadium, even though a day game wouldn't be as well attended as a night one. Then again, his most recent cities of residence, Rio de Janeiro, Kolkata, and New York City, weren't exactly sparsely populated, and it wasn't as if General Ross would be hunting for him at a Yankee game.

Nevertheless, she watched him closely on the train to the stadium and in the line to enter the ballpark. An uncomfortable expression crossed his features as he passed through the metal detector, which reminded her of the search at the Fridge. She grasped his wrist, ostensibly to keep from getting separated in the press of fans through the gates, but his pulse seemed to be beating at a normal rate, if slightly erratic when her fingers first closed around it.

Bruce must have understood her intention, because he said, "I was just thinking…it's funny, isn't it? They're trying to make sure no one's carrying a weapon, but they just let two people inside who _are_ weapons."

"Your definition of _funny_ and mine are kind of different," Natasha replied.

"Sorry." He tugged at the bill of the Yankees cap he apparently owned, pulling it lower down on his forehead.

She rubbed his wrist with the pad of her thumb. "Let's try to keep it light, shall we?"

Bruce didn't speak again till they found their seats-third base side, second deck, not great but not bad, either, on an unemployment budget. "I have to say, I'm kind of surprised you're a baseball fan."

"That's not technically true."

He let out a puff of laughter. "What does that mean, _not technically true_?"

"I don't watch baseball, but I have a fantasy team."

 _Had_ might be more accurate; the SHIELD league only got as far as the draft this year before there was no SHIELD league. Ignoring that, Natasha focused instead on Bruce's expression, which clearly said he found this even more surprising than her being a mere baseball fan.

She shrugged. "I like statistics and programming. I track player stats, and I wrote a program to help me pick a good team."

"You realize how incredibly nerdy that is, right?"

He looked boyish, with the ends of his hair curling out beneath the uncharacteristically casual baseball cap, brown eyes warm and glimmering in the sunlight.

Natasha watched grounds crew water down and rake the infield following batting practice. She propped her feet on the back of the as-yet empty seat in front of her, taking advantage of the chance to stretch her legs while she still could.

" _Is_ it nerdy to always win, though?"

"What was the prize?"

"Cash."

But the real reward, she told him, was annoying her fellow agents who were true blue baseball fans. Grant Ward's killer jawline did this neat thing when he was irritated, and Coulson had a particularly good rant he trotted out after a couple of beers when she took the losers out for drinks, about how baseball wasn't a game of the mind, but all about the heart. His _Field of Dreams_ speech, they called it.

"If you like programming," Bruce said after the game when they were on the train back to Manhattan, "I've got a kind of buggy one I wrote to organize some of my data."

This was definitely a change from the way he'd regarded her from a careful distance that first day she came to his lab and asked if he minded her staying at the Tower.

"I can take a look at it, but…you are aware if I help you out in the lab, we'll be doing exactly what Stark wanted."

 _Lovely lab assistant; s_ he could practically read the words in Bruce's eyes.

"It'll be our secret," he said.

Natasha wasn't entirely sure how much that transpired in Avengers Tower actually _was_ secret from Stark. She'd have to see what she could do to override his surveillance-but of course she didn't mention any of that to Bruce. He probably suspected, anyway.

He coded much the same way that he cooked: not quite as effectively, but just as sloppily. Debugging his program was only a morning's work, but she continued to come to the lab regularly afterward. She found it as much of a sanctuary as Greenacre Park with the sleek design and the background hum of computers and equipment. She was even learning to appreciate the opera arias Bruce played while he worked. She worked on her own projects, but more often than not when he wandered past her workstation he caught her fiddling with the fantasy baseball team she'd brought out of retirement, convincing Clint and Maria to do the same. "Just in time for the All-Star break," Bruce teased.

She realized with some surprise that her days had become so full that they'd turned into weeks, slipping by almost without her noticing. It was July.

* * *

Steve came to stay at the Tower. Unlike her, he didn't show up unexpectedly and put anyone on the spot, but called first to ask whether they'd mind having another roommate. She relayed the question to Bruce, curious if he'd be as uncomfortable with Steve as he initially was with her, or if he'd warmed to living in close quarters with other people in general.

"It's Avengers Tower, not Black Widow and Hulk Tower," he joked, though his voice sounded taut, as though putting on a polite smile required enough effort without forcing his lips to form the words, too.

"That's a crying shame," she replied. "Hulk-Widow Tower has kind of a nice ring to it."

He ducked his head, expression easing into a grin as he peered at her above the rims of his glasses which had slipped down his nose. Natasha returned his smile-briefly-then went to call Steve back, a question turning over in her mind:

Was it normal to feel so pleased about putting another person at ease?

She felt the pull of the same smile the next night as she watched Bruce's lingering insecurities be absorbed by Steve's firm handshake and sincere, "Good to see you again." Just like when they'd met on the helicarrier. They'd seemed to understand each other on some unspoken level from the start, maybe because they were two men who'd given up everything to become something that wasn't at all what they'd intended. Or maybe it was just that they were men.

"Movie night?" Steve asked after they'd exchanged greetings, nodding toward the large flat-panel screen, paused on the black and white MGM logo.

"Just about to start," Bruce said. "Want to join us?"

"It's actually from your decade," Natasha added, resuming her seat on the sectional, one leg curled beneath her, popcorn bowl in her lap.

Steve shook his head, a small grin playing at his lips. The playful rapport they'd developed hadn't been changed by his time away, or by the sadness of being confronted with his past in the form of the altered Bucky Barnes. Of course that emotion was present as his gaze left hers to glance at the TV again.

"It's _this_ decade's movies I need to brush up on."

"Got anything in mind?" Bruce asked as he sidled between the coffee table and Natasha's leg toward his end of the couch. "As you can imagine, Tony has an extensive collection…Gives movies on demand a whole new meaning."

He started to sit, then paused and pivoted back toward the table. He bent over it, looking for something, frowned and scratched the greying patch of hair at his temple. "Now, where did I leave the-?"

Natasha held out the remote.

"Well," Steve said, "Sam found out I haven't seen the _Dark Knight_ trilogy yet and insisted I bump it to the top of my list."

"Don't you deal with enough eccentric crime-fighting billionaires with daddy issues in real life?" Natasha asked, putting a few kernels of popcorn into her mouth.

Bruce grinned as he lowered himself onto the sofa beside her, "Even Tony doesn't do dark and brooding quite like Bruce Wayne."

"Maybe that's more my thing," said Steve, with a weak smile.

"I hope that means you've taken up recreational dating since the last time I saw you," said Natasha.

"You never give up, do you, Romanoff?"

"You wouldn't want me on the Avengers if I did."

"That's true," Steve said. He straightened up. "You two had first dibs on the TV. I can watch _The Dark Knight_ on my laptop."

"No way," Bruce said, twisting on the sofa as Steve started to go. "You have to see those on the big screen with surround sound."

"I could be up for a dark and brooding hero," Natasha said.

Bruce chuckled, but there was a strained quality to it, and he pressed himself against the arm of the sectional. Interesting. Drawing her other leg beneath her, she inched closer to him, as if to make room for Steve. Not that it was strictly necessary, as there was plenty of space for him to stretch out on the chaise.

They made it through the first two movies. Besides the Chinese food they ordered after _Batman Begins_ , Steve's main take away was the likelihood of people turning on the hero.

"For some reason, that rings really true to me," he said. Then, glancing sideways at Natasha, he added, "Also, I bet Lucius Fox was secretly working for SHIELD. The cell phone surveillance was right up Nick Fury's alley."

Bruce barked out a laugh, but when he saw that Natasha wasn't amused, he abruptly fell silent.

After a few minutes, he pushed up from the couch with a groan and announced that he needed to check some simulations he'd left running in the lab, then turn in. He took the empty popcorn bowl with him- offering to make more if either of them wanted it, which neither of them did-and padded sleepily from the lounge.

Alone with Steve, Natasha retrieved her unfinished beer from the coffee table, then shifted to sit back against the arm of the sectional where Bruce had sat. His warmth still clung to the upholstery.

"So…" She eyed Steve down the length of the sofa, "I take it identifying with brooding superheroes means you didn't find Barnes."

It was odd to refer to him as anything other than the Winter Soldier; she did it for Steve's sake, but couldn't bring herself to go so far as calling him Bucky.

Intent on his beer, Steve replied, "Sam has a few more leads to check up on. The less likely ones." He raised his eyes, the ghost of a smile forming as they met hers. "Thought I'd see how you are. Figure out a new cover yet?"

"Well, there's Susan Vance," Natasha said, slipping into the light drawl she'd worked up for the alias, "science prodigy and protégé of Dr. David Huxley."

"Aren't those Hepburn and Grant characters?"

"Good thing Banner and I weren't trying to slip past _you_ undercover."

She swigged her beer, then filled him in on everything that had transpired since Stark and Pepper told them about Agent Coulson's girlfriend. Steve was, predictably, pissed off about SHIELD's lack of transparency.

"But honestly," he said, "what can we expect from an organization whose director is playing possum?"

This wasn't his biggest bugbear, though. When she told him about her most recent conversation with Maria, he got up and paced the room.

"The Avengers stopped an alien invasion. It's not right for us to be reduced to the role of SHIELD's attack dog, heeling until some invisible master says _sic 'em_. Are we Earth's Mightiest, or aren't we?"

"Yes," Natasha said, sitting up and swinging her feet to the floor, "but the Avengers Initiative was never meant to replace SHIELD. We're more the special forces."

"The Avengers Initiative never accounted for SHIELD being infiltrated by Hydra and collapsing. Hydra, on the other hand…They're still out there. They have a scepter that can control minds and God only knows what else? Are we going to let them do to more people what they did to Barton? To Bucky?"

Natasha didn't answer right away. She sat, elbows on her thighs, dangling her beer bottle between her knees. Part of her-a very large part-wanted to stand up with Steve, every inch Captain America even if he wasn't dressed in the spangled suit brandishing his shield, and tell him that yes, she agreed.

Another part of her thought of Bruce in the lab, wanting to be an Avenger but not ready to rampage into battle.

Steve shook his head, as though to bring himself back to reality, and sank onto the couch, massaging his brow between his thumb and index finger.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to get all _Uncle Sam wants YOU_ on you."

"You are the poster boy." She resumed her earlier position, legs stretched out, and nudged his knee with her toe.

Steve looked up, lowering his hand. "What else have you been up to? Breaking into an USAF facility can't have taken much of your time."

Natasha nursed her beer, considering her reply. "Loki's scepter and Barnes aren't the only things on my mind. I've been told to shift my priorities. So I'm going to cafes and museums and theater in the park, listening to street musicians and eating apple pie from Costco. Basically, getting a life."

She found herself unable to meet Steve's eye, although as she contemplated the mouth of her bottle, she could see him in her periphery, watching her.

"With Banner? Sounds like the plot of a romantic comedy."

Lowering the beer bottle, Natasha looked him in the eye, and gave him a sharp jab in the knee. "Shut up, Rogers."

* * *

Despite his teasing, Steve didn't hesitate to accept Natasha's invitation to the Met with her and Bruce. She hadn't really thought he would, knowing he was something of an artist himself; she had, however, feared he might say something like, _Are you sure I won't be a third wheel?_ to indicate that his romantic comedy wisecrack had been something more than just that. She was relieved that he didn't.

He did stand out, though more because he was six foot two than because he was the odd man out. Thankfully, he only attracted attention at the end of their visit, as they browsed the gift shop.

Natasha perused the prints, debating whether to get one for her room at the Tower. "The trick is finding something that goes with my other artwork."

"You mean the drawings from your little fanclub?" Bruce turned from a stationery display nearby to grin at her, knocking over a couple of journals with his elbow. As he twisted to stand them upright, Steve came up beside her.

"Obviously the only way to go is with a Jackson Pollock," he said, holding up a reproduction drip painting.

"You know you can get prints a lot cheaper online," Bruce said in a low tone as he joined them, then glanced back over his shoulder at the cash register. His eyes widened behind his glasses as he saw the saleslady with a severe grey bun peering at their trio over the rims of her own.

"Relax, Bruce," Natasha murmured, lightly touching the cuff of his rolled-up shirtsleeve. "She's a cashier, not a librarian."

"Excuse me, young man," she said, and Bruce audibly sighed as it became clear she was addressing Steve and not him. "You're Captain America, aren't you?"

Natasha observed how his shoulders went a little straighter, his chest puffed just slightly. "Yes, ma'am, I am."

He gave his winning smile, but she wasn't won. Instead, she turned her critical gaze on Bruce and Natasha. Maybe she moonlighted as a librarian, after all.

"I suppose that makes you Iron Man and the Spider Woman?"

"I-" Bruce spluttered. "She-"

"Black Widow," Natasha corrected, "and he's the Incredible Hulk."

"Only some of the time," Bruce said hastily, his face nowhere near green due to the deep shade of red it had turned.

"You look taller on the TV," said the woman, then addressed Steve again. "Why aren't you working?"

"When we're not battling aliens, which fortunately we're not today, Avengers enjoy art just like civilians."

"So do some _villains_ ," she replied. "That Devil of Hell's Kitchen could use a hand with the mob, if you're so inclined."

She swept off to assist a customer who'd just approached the register to buy a tote bag, and by wordless agreement, they made for the exit. So much for decorating her room, Natasha thought. But Bruce was right; the prints were overpriced.

"Devil of Hell's Kitchen?" Steve asked as they made their way down the broad steps, squinting against the summer light reflecting brightly off the light stone.

"You haven't heard about this guy?" Bruce replied, flushed from their mad dash, but otherwise calm again now that they were a safe distance from the museum shop. "He's been all over the local news."

"Local for Steve's been DC," Natasha reminded him. "Among other cities not called New York."

"Right." Bruce took off his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket as they kept up their brisk pace. "Hell's Kitchen took a lot of damage from the Chitauri invasion. Reconstruction's been slow, and organized crime has flourished. This one mob boss, Wilson Fisk, got taken down by a masked vigilante-"

"Masked vigilante?" Steve stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk.

Natasha saw the disbelief etched on his honest face, and smirked. "They 're calling him _Daredevil_."

Shaking his head, Steve resumed walking and muttered, "Sure he's not Batman?"


	14. Born on the Fourth of July

Bruce groped around the nightstand for the ringing cell phone. He found his glasses first and put them on, blinking blearily behind the lenses until the blurred green digits on his alarm clock sharpened: 5:47. Who would be calling him this early? And where was his phone?

He rolled out of bed with a groan, ankles and knees cracking as he settled his weight on them, and shambled like the walking dead to the chair he'd draped his clothes over before falling into bed mere hours ago, the session in the lab having gone later than planned. Didn't it always? The ringtone sounded louder.

"Getting warm, Banner," he muttered. A moment later he retrieved the phone from the pocket of his slacks.

_TONY CALLING_ , the screen read.

"Are you still in LA?" Bruce croaked.

"Morning, Sunshine to you, too," Tony replied. "Were you asleep?"

"It isn't even six AM, what else would I be doing?"

"Brilliant science."

"That's valid." Bruce padded back to his bed and sat at the edge, running his free hand through his disheveled hair. "Why aren't you in bed? It's not even three there. If you're there."

"What are your plans for the Fourth?" Tony asked, ignored the rest.

_Was_ it the Fourth? Bruce twisted his stiff neck to consult the bedside clock, which displayed the date beneath the time. Sure enough...

"Do I ever have plans?" he replied, grumpy from the early wake-up call.

"Once upon a time I'd have said no, but since you took up with Romanoff, you're like a stranger to me. I never know if you've got secret spy ops. JARVIS tells me you've been going out with her a lot lately."

"If I was on secret missions, I certainly wouldn't tell you. What about you? Any plans?"

"There's this concert. Patriotic thing."

"I'll have to see what Steve and Natasha want to do," said Bruce.

"Cap's at the Tower?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. This changes _everything_. You know he was born on the Fourth of July?"

Tony was dizzying enough in the middle of the day; Bruce gave up trying to follow him now, in the wee hours of the morning. "I thought that was just in the comic books."

"Nope. Well, gotta go. See you later. Until then, don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Glad to have plenty of options," Bruce said, but Tony had already hung up. He shook his head, contemplated going back to sleep, then stood and stretched. "Tony definitely wouldn't get up before six."

He showered and dressed, then went down to the kitchen. As he stepped off the elevator, he met Natasha and Steve, headed out for an early run.

"You're not joining us today?" asked Steve, noting Bruce's lack of workout clothing with a hint of disapproval. When he'd learned Bruce was training with Natasha, he'd given a curt nod and said they all needed to be battle-ready in a soldier's tone that made Bruce squirm.

He spread his hands. "It's a national holiday."

"Come on, Bruce," Natasha said, affecting a pleading tone. "It could be your birthday present to Steve to let him beat you in the race. That's what I'm giving him."

"Romanoff…" Steve shook his head.

"How is that different from every day?" Bruce asked, exchanging a grin with Natasha. "I'll have breakfast ready when you get back from your run, that can be my gift."

"How is _that_ different from every day?" said Natasha.

"In all seriousness, _are_ we doing anything to celebrate?" Bruce asked. "Steve's birthday, or America's?"

Natasha regarded him from beneath an arched eyebrow, and he reached up to rub his neck as warmth prickled beneath his collar.

"I guess as a Russian, displays of American nationalism aren't really your thing."

"Less because I'm Russian than because I'm a _former_ employee of the US government."

There was no missing the bitterness in her voice. Although part of him found satisfaction in not being the only one disillusioned and skeptical about the government and its security organizations, past and present, and their use of people like them, he wished he'd thought this through a little more carefully.

He lowered his hand, shoving it and the other one into his pants pockets. "So I should forget about asking if you want to go watch fireworks in Central Park?"

Natasha's expression softened. "I didn't say that. Like you said, it's not just America's birthday."

They both looked at Steve, who held up his hands as if to physically push away the suggestion. "After the Met, I'd rather not go out and be recognized again."

"Fair enough." Bruce didn't love the thought, either, although he wasn't often recognized; he'd learned to blend in. Not that he'd ever been the sort of person to get second glances, even before he became notorious. "We can probably see the Macy's fireworks from the helipad. It faces the East River."

"You two go on," said Steve. "Enjoy the Fourth down on the ground."

"You're sure?" Bruce asked. "I'd feel bad, ditching you on your birthday." He'd spent enough of them alone not to wish that on anybody.

"I wouldn't mind a quiet night in," Steve assured them. "Never did watch _The Dark Knight Rises_. Besides, I'm meeting with Maria Hill later about the state of the Avengers."

Pulse quickening, Bruce's eyes darted to Natasha. She wasn't looking at him, yet her untroubled expression had a calming effect.

"It's your birthday, Rogers," she said with a shrug. "Do what you want."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Bruce asked later that afternoon as he and Natasha set out on foot for Central Park.

After the past few days with Steve making them a trio, it felt strange to be on his own with her again. Or maybe that wasn't the right word. Self-aware, maybe? The bag of picnic supplies he carried slipped down his shoulder, and he hitched it up again.

"We really don't have to," he went on. "If it's not your thing…"

"I'm finding out what my thing is, remember? Maybe it's a little bit of patriotism."

"Does that mean I can expect to hear you sing along to _I'm Proud to Be an American_?"

"I said a little bit, Banner."

But as they passed a street vendor selling Avengers merchandise, Natasha caught his arm and pulled him back. Before he knew what was happening, she told him to put his bag on the ground and stand up straight. He obeyed, and found himself being sized for a Captain America t-shirt.

"Fourth of July special," said the vendor. "Two for thirty dollars."

"How patriotic of you to boost the economy." Smirking, Natasha pulled a few bills from the pocket of her jeans. "We'll definitely take two."

"Wait," Bruce protested, his brain registering belatedly that she was _buying them_ _matching t-shirts._ To wear. _In public._ "Won't that draw attention?"

"Don't you trust my super spy skills?" She arched an eyebrow, looking so genuinely offended by the suggestion otherwise, that whether she actually was or not, Bruce had no choice but to nod emphatically.

"Of course I do. It's just…That woman at the Met-"

"We'll just be another couple of New Yorkers. Now go in that restroom and change."

"Couldn't it at least be a phone booth?" he grumbled, but as he unbuttoned his shirt in a muggy toilet stall, hanging it gingerly over the hook on the graffitied door, he had to force his thoughts not to linger on the word _couple_. Not to interpret it in a way she obviously didn't mean.

When he exited Natasha was already outside, changed and waiting beneath the shade of a spreading oak. He made his way toward her, formulating a quip about her skills as a quick-change artist not being rusty, when she waved to him. Slightly confused, he nevertheless returned the gesture, and she burst out laughing.

"What?" he asked when he was close enough.

" _Oh say, does that star-spangled Banner yet wave_ …" she sang in a voice shaky with laughter.

"Keep making jokes like that," he replied, "and you'll lose your status as the cool member of the team."

"Is that my status?" she asked as they fell into step once more. "What about Stark?"

"He likes to think he's the cool one."

"I'm just glad I'm not _the girl_."

Although the fireworks wouldn't begin for hours yet, the park was already crowded. They found a place on the lawn to spread out their picnic blanket and settled down to wait. Some kids, aged eight or nine, zig-zagged through the maze of blankets and lawn chairs, and stopped to stare at them. Bruce turned to Natasha, about to tease her about his trust in her spy skills being misplaced after all, but they only said, " _Cool shirts!_ " and scampered off again, eventually flopping down on the ground with their parents.

As he watched them, he breathed in the scent of the broken blades of grass they'd trampled underfoot, mingled with the mouth-watering aroma of hot dogs cooking in a food cart, exhaling again with a sigh.

"Nostalgia?" Natasha asked.

"Huh?" Bruce looked to her, then followed her gaze back to the kids, who were pestering their parents to let them play their iPads or have money for junk food. "Oh…"

He looked away from the family scene to his knee, noticed a loose thread in his jeans. She had to know about his childhood; that wasn't the kind of detail that that got omitted from the dossiers of people on SHIELD's watch list. Natasha didn't need to ask, but she did anyway. No one ever did. Not Tony, either because he assumed Bruce wouldn't want to talk about it, or because he was afraid it would piss off the Other Guy. Most of the time Bruce _didn't_ want to talk about it. Now, though…

Well, he still didn't wantto talk about it, but he did want to talk to Natasha. She didn't make assumptions. She wasn't afraid.

"My Aunt Susan took me to stuff like this, after I went to live with her. Sometimes my Aunt Elaine would come, too, and bring my cousin Jennifer. It made me feel like a normal kid, with a normal family."

He wasn't used revealing so much, and his first instinct was to feel like he'd been caught with his pants down. Which, unfortunately, he had far too much experience with. As Natasha remained still and quiet, though, his self-consciousness eased enough for him to look up. Her expression was one of understanding. Of course it was.

Emboldened, he said, "Maybe that's why I wanted to do this today. You make me feel normal." The intensity of her gaze made him go on, quickly, " _You_ plural, I mean, you guys. Steve, Tony… Barton…" Maybe not Thor, although he had a pretty weird family situation, too.

"True confession," Natasha said. "I'm not actually the Grinch Who Stole Independence Day."

"Now there's the crossover sequel I never knew I wanted."

"Dork."

She nudged his shoulder with hers before leaning back on her elbows. Bruce couldn't help but look at her legs, lean in her skinny jeans stretched out alongside his and crossed at the ankles. She'd kicked off her shoes to reveal toenails painted red, although he wasn't sure if that was for the occasion or just because. It matched her lipstick, he noticed when her voice drew his gaze back to her face.

"Clint's got this place in the country. We go to roadside firework stands and spend way too much money on bottle rockets and Roman candles and Saturn missiles, then we shoot 'em off over the field. After we run out, we break out the rifles and shoot those, too."

Bruce goggled, not immediately convinced she was serious, but gradually accepting that she was. "You SHIELD agents represent Middle America more than I realized."

"Why Doc," she said with a twang, "I do believe you mean _Murica_."

Chuckling, he said, "You may find Central Park a lot less exciting than what you're used to."

"Oh no. I've almost blown myself up too many times. Last year I actually singed off some hair with sparkler. I'm good being a spectator this time."

"Is that the only reason you're not there this year?"

Normally Bruce was as wary of prying into other people's personal lives as he was of other people prying into his, but she started it. And his curiosity about the exact nature of her relationship with Barton had at last gotten the better of him.

"Only I wondered…since he didn't stick around the Tower long…Are you and Clint good? Things between you…?"

"Things?" Natasha echoed, pushing to sit more upright. "What do you mean? What kind of things?"

Something in her voice sounded amused, but Bruce couldn't trust his ears. They were flame hot, blood pounding in them.

"You know...guy and girl… _things_."

"Oo-oh." She drew out the word, definitely teasing. " _Relationship_ things. If we're done talking like middle schoolers."

"Uh-huh."

"Nonexistent."

At her flat tone, he felt the color drain from his face and looked up. The apology died on the tip of his tongue when he saw the twinkle in her eyes.

"Always have been, always will be. Clint's my best friend, but so not my type."

"So not?"

" _So_ not. And I'm not his. He likes brunettes. Speaking of which…How are _things_ between you and Betty Ross?"

_That_ was unexpected. Even more so how easily he answered.

"She got married. Shortly after the Battle of New York."

He'd called her-how could he not, after his very public return to the country?-and asked if she wanted to meet. Of course she said yes, although with a caveat. _I'm engaged, Bruce._ She'd met a man who wanted to marry and start a family. _I'm glad you found someone who can give you that,_ he'd told her, _so let's have coffee and you can tell me all about him, and I'll tell you about the Avengers._

"We exchange Christmas cards," he said. "Last year she had her first baby." At that, his throat tightened, just slightly, but he smiled. "I'm happy for her. Truly."

He wasn't sure how convincing he sounded, although he'd never been more convinced of anything than that he needed to let Betty go, but Natasha didn't challenge him on it.

"Closure's important," she said.

"It takes the edge off the disappointment. It's more than I could have hoped for, all things considered."

"Just don't let it be all you ever hope for."

Natasha turned her head, eyes lifted upward. Bruce followed her gaze over the tops of the thick border of trees that surrounded Central park, to the rebuilt and repaired skyscrapers towering above, the light from the setting sun beaming out between their varying silhouettes. Was she thinking of Steve, alone in one of them, brooding?

"There's a lot to be said for watching the city you saved celebrate its independence," she said.

Bruce _hmm_ ed his agreement-but _he_ was watching the woman who helped him save it.

* * *

"Good evening, Dr. Banner, Miss Romanoff," JARVIS greeted when they returned to the Tower after the fireworks. "Mr. Stark asked me to inform you that you will find everyone on the helipad."

"Stark's back?" Natasha asked at the same moment as Bruce mused, "Everyone?"

Even before he'd pumped himself full of Gamma Radiation and acquired an unwelcome plus one, Bruce had been wary of walking into social settings without adequate preparation. Now, especially, he and surprise parties weren't exactly the best of combinations. Fortunately, he had an eighty-floor elevator ride with an unflappable woman who adapted effortlessly to any situation to convince himself that whatever awaited him on the landing deck-and there really was no telling what Tony had up his sleeve-he would be okay.

The elevator door slid soundlessly open, admitting an assault on his senses in the form of a live band and the smoky smell of a barbecue. He followed Natasha as she bee-lined for Steve, who stood talking with Maria Hill, Pepper Potts, and a black man Bruce didn't know but hypothesized to be Sam Wilson.

"You throwing a party without us, Rogers?" Natasha asked, crossing her arms to size him up as though he didn't loom over her by about a foot.

"Stark Industries, actually," Steve replied.

"First annual New York division Fourth of July party," added Maria.

"I was halfway through my movie when the chopper landed carrying a string quartet, Barton, and an alarming amount of explosives."

"Explosives?" Bruce echoed.

"Don't worry," said Pepper, drawing him in for a hug. "No bombs bursting in air tonight, and the only rockets' red glares are of the bottle variety. Agent Barton apparently has a favorite fireworks stand somewhere in the Midwest."

She released him, and Bruce caught Natasha's eye. "Guess you'll get a little bit of tradition tonight, after all."

"Where is Clint?" she asked.

"Tending bar." Steve indicated with a nod where a crowd gathered. He called after her, "Nice shirt, by the way. You, too, Bruce."

He looked down at the Captain America emblem on his chest. He'd forgotten about their wardrobe change.

"Fourth of July special," he mumbled. "Two for thirty."

"I wish I'd known," said Pepper. "That would've been so cute, to have all the guests wear Captain America shirts for Steve's birthday."

"So cute." Maria smirked at Steve, who ignored her.

"Bruce, I don't believe you've met Sam Wilson."

Although Bruce was glad to have the attention off his shirt, he extricated himself from the conversation as soon as he politely could. He wandered around the deck, dodging Stark Industries employees, a few whom he recognized from other company parties Tony forced him to attend. He paused for a while to listen to the quartet play covers of rock and pop songs. The cellist, Audrey Nathan, remembered him from the concert he'd attended and gave a small smile, although he wasn't sure if it was because they were virtual strangers, or she was wary of him, or just couldn't muster more of one due to her recent ordeal and lingering grief.

Eventually he moved on, at last spotting Tony himself, presiding over the grill that was the source of the barbecue smell. He wore an apron emblazoned with the word _GRILLMEISTER_ and wielded an oversized pair of tongs which Rhodey had to keep dodging as they bickered over grilling technique.

"You've never done so much as fix yourself a sandwich. What makes you think you're qualified to cook ribs?"

"Besides the fact that my palate hasn't been…um, what's the opposite of refined?" Tony saw Bruce approaching and snapped his fingers.

"Dulled?" Bruce offered.

"Yes. Precisely. Your taste buds have been dulled by decades of mess halls."

"Thank you for that contribution, Dr. Banner," said Rhodey.

"Great idea," said Tony, putting down his tongs and stepping around the grill. " _Brucey_ here can contribute a little more."

"Please don't call me Brucey," he mumbled.

When Tony introduced him to Rhodey two years ago, Bruce hadn't been sure what to call him and erred on the side of politeness, sticking with Colonel. Rhodey in turn, called him Doctor, until one day Pepper heard this and told them for Pete's sake to please stop talking like people from a costume drama and call each other Rhodey and Bruce. "Great idea, Pep," Tony had said, "only I have one slight modification. Can he be _Brucey_ , you know, just for the sake of consistency?"

Now, Bruce had another problem than an irritating nickname. Tony whipped off the apron and looped the strap over Bruce's head.

"I dub thee Grillmeister." As he smoothed the apron over Bruce's chest, Tony's brow furrowed. "Do you even lift, science bro? Is this how it works? I go away for a few weeks, and come back to you looking all svelte. Doesn't he look svelte, Rhodey?"

"Very svelte, Bruce," Rhodey replied.

"Er, thanks." Bruce fumbled to tie the apron in back until Rhodey excused himself to speak to someone who'd waved to him. "You should have told me you were coming back tonight," he said to Tony, testily, when they were alone at the grill.

Tony looked confused. "Didn't I?"

"You mentioned a concert. That implied you were going back to Portland, not bringing some of the Philharmonic to New York."

"Ah, you say I implied, but I say you assumed. And you know what they say about assumptions."

"That you like to make an ass of me," Bruce said as he made his way around the makeshift outdoor kitchen to stand behind the grill.

Tony followed, and let out a low whistle. "An ass has been made, but not by me. Romanoff should be commended for what she's done with yours."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do you have surveillance cameras in the training room?"

"Relax. She cut the feed. Which was what made me suspect shenanigans were taking place in there."

The smell of the ribs as Bruce opened the grill distracted him from attempting to explain to Tony about his workouts with Natasha. Explaining things only ever gave Tony more fodder for his dubious brand of humor, anyway.

"Anyway, that's why I didn't call you when I got back in town. Cap said you two went to see the fireworks, and I didn't know if that was a euphemism or not. I didn't want to ask because, you know, can't corrupt those virginal ears."

"It's not like that," Bruce said, flipping a rack of ribs. "You know it can't be like that."

"Well…tell that to the man in matchy outfits." Tony patted him on the shoulder, then strode off to mingle. "I expect to see you both wearing Iron Man on my birthday!"

"If you think I'm going to let you harass me and still cook your ribs, you'd be wrong."

Bruce started after him, only to resume his position at the grill because he couldn't sacrifice baby backs for the sake of proving a point with Tony. Which he'd be unlikely to do, anyway. Anyway, the task of tending the meat, ensuring that it was cooked to smoky, fall-off-the-bone perfection, restored his sense of equilibrium after the unexpected party and Tony's jokes left Bruce feeling slightly more off-balance than they merited.

After he removed them from the grill to a platter, which was immediately set upon by hungry party guests, he started to pull the apron off over his head when he remembered it was tied in back. As he reached around to tug at the strings, Natasha emerged from the crowd, approaching with two beers, one open and the second apparently for him.

Her eyes fixed on his chest. "Grillmeister, huh? I prefer the ones that say Kiss the Cook _._ "

Bruce wanted to believe his face was hot from the grill, but he knew he was perfectly capable of blushing at innocent flirtation.

"Please," he said as he lifted the apron over his head, hoping to achieve a normal complexion by the time he emerged from behind the fabric, "don't give Tony any ideas. Our t-shirts-"

A crack that shook the Tower, accompanied by an explosion of light in the night sky, cut him off and thankfully diverted Natasha's gaze heavenward.

"There wasn't a thunderstorm in the forecast." He looked up, too, only for his head to snap back down as Natasha's hand-she'd disposed of the beer bottles-curled around his bicep, drawing him back, as though toward cover.

"That's not thunder," she murmured, eyes trained on the sky where a glowing object hurtled down like a meteor or a space capsule re-entering the atmosphere.

A cheer went up from the party guests, who assumed the fireworks had begun and moved _en masse_ out onto the helipad to watch. The music had stopped.

"Is Tony doing a flyover?" Bruce asked. "Or Rhodey?"

"Um, that would be a no," Tony said, coming alongside him.

"It's Thor," Clint's voice joined the conversation.

"He knows he can just take a plane from London, doesn't he?" Steve asked.

"I called him kind of last minute," Maria Hill said.

They all turned simultaneously to look at her.

"Nice of you to invite him to the party," Tony said. "I knew HR was a good fit for you. Although maybe we need to tweak the title slightly. Human and Asgardian Relations."

"I didn't call Thor so he wouldn't be left out of the party," Maria replied. "I called him because the party's over."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: If you follow me on [Tumblr](http://khaleesa.tumblr.com/), you might have recognized the 4th of July park scene from a [ficlet](http://khaleesa.tumblr.com/post/123308198497/brucenat-6-oh-my-god) I posted there during the summer. It's one of my favorite BruceNat ideas I've had, and as it fit well within my timeline for this story, I decided to expand it and use it as a setting for a heart-to-heart before the Avengers assemble and the story takes on an action-packed pace.
> 
> There likely won't be an update next Sunday, as summer has ended and I'll be getting back to work and adjusting to a new schedule. Not to mention my beta reader is going on vacation and I depend on her to remind me of crucial details like Thor actually being in London at this point in the timeline. ;) I'll do my best to have Chapter 15 ready on the 30th and to keep up with the weekly update schedule if I can. Thanks for being patient, for following this story and for all the lovely feedback you've given. <3


	15. Flight and Fight

"ETA in Pakistan, seventeen hundred thirty-eight," Clint announced from the cockpit as he piloted the quinjet off the Tower landing bay. "In other words, anyone needs a nap, you got about three hours."

Although she'd pulled an all-nighter and was likely to again tonight, Natasha knew she wouldn't so much as doze on the flight. She'd been keyed up since Thor exploded onto the party scene in a way that took arriving fashionably late to a whole new stratosphere.

Not wanting to alert the guests to the fact that the Avengers were assembling in their very midst, they'd left Rhodey and Wilson in charge of the fireworks, which they could see from the floor-to-ceiling windows of their conference room while Maria Hill relayed her intel. With each boom and blast of glittering color, Natasha's pulse accelerated and her adrenaline surged. As much as she'd come to enjoy her furlough, she was ready to get back to work.

Clint felt the same way, she knew. He had a personal score to settle with the scepter, as did Thor. She watched the roll of his knuckles as he flexed his fingers around Mjolnir, like the churn of white-capped waves in the sea. The storm that brewed in his eyes was mirrored in Steve's, who was brooding about his own unfinished business with Hydra. In the cockpit with Clint, Tony had his usual manic energy.

"Are we there yet?"

"Am I landing the jet?" Clint replied. "Are we getting out of it? No? Then we're not there."

"But I have to go potty," Tony whined.

"Told you not to drink that Big Gulp."

"Damn. You're good at this, Barton. Ever thought about having kids?"

If Tony only knew. But how could he, with Clint's blank expression and neutral tone?

"How 'bout we play the quiet game?"

"I'm in," Bruce spoke for the first time since boarding the quinjet.

"Bruce loses!" Tony announced.

"Nothing new there," Bruce muttered, then leaned his head against the back of his seat and closed his eyes.

Despite his relaxed appearance, Natasha read the subtler signs that he wasn't. His brows twitched, lines flickering across his forehead and around his eyes and lips. He wasn't tripping all over his words as he had on the flight from Kolkata to the helicarrier or, more recently, on the chopper to the Fridge with Colonel Talbot-who'd just been promoted to Brigadier General. That meant Bruce was more or less at ease with the team, even if the mission itself put him on edge. Which was a valid feeling, considering their destination.

_"Your mission, should you choose to accept it,"_ Maria had said, " _is a heroin lab in the Pakistani province of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa-"_

_"Um, I hate to be that guy_ -" Tony interjected, only to be cut off by Steve.

_"Do you? Really?"_

Tony had given Earth's mightiest eyeroll. " _Okay, fine. No more false modesty. I doubt I'm the only one thinking drug rings, while very bad, not really Avengers-level stuff."_

_"They are when the lab's a front for a hydra research facility."_ Maria's reply effectively shut them up.

There drugs that came out of this lab had a potential connection with a product found in Hell's Kitchen a year or so earlier and traced to a Chinese drug and human trafficking ring. What put it on her source's radar instead of just leaving it for the DEA to deal with was behavior not typically associated with opiate users. Mind control. Special abilities. It was their most promising lead on the scepter.

Apart from a few questions about the specs on the lab and its product, Bruce hadn't said much during the meeting. He hadn't voiced any misgivings, although Natasha knew better than to think his silence meant he didn't have any. She watched him now, and thought as she had on the helicarrier how out of place he looked, wearing his regular slightly disheveled button-down and slacks and glasses while everyone else was suited up. It didn't help matters that he sat by himself.

Feeling Steve's eyes on her, she unstrapped herself and crossed the bay to Bruce.

"Excuse me, mister," she drawled. "This seat taken?"

"Romanoff loses, too!" Tony announced cheerfully from up front as Bruce blinked up at her.

"I sure have heard a lot of talking from you," Steve said.

"Not talking, _judging_. Someone always has to judge the quiet game."

"I thought Barton was judging."

"You people?" Clint said. "Not a minute goes by that I don't."

Thor looked desperately like he wanted to speak, but he kept his lips pressed together.

"Welcome to the losers' corner," Bruce said to Natasha, gesturing to the empty seat beside him. "Although that doesn't seem like a word that could ever apply to you."

He glanced away, ruffling his hair, so he missed the smile Natasha couldn't stop forming as she thought of him calling her _the cool one_. With a shock, she realized it had only been a few hours ago that they were in Central Park together, wearing matching t-shirts like a couple of dorks.

"You weren't sleeping, were you?" she asked as she lowered herself into the seat, even though she knew he hadn't been.

"No, just…trying to remember my Urdu. In case I need it. Not that the Other Guy's big on speaking in any language."

"How do you say _smash_ in Urdu?"

The muscle flickered beneath his cheekbone as he tensed his jaw, shadowed with a growth of salt and pepper stubble. "Can't say that's one I hope to learn."

"It's going to be fine, Bruce."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, darkening with his intensity. "I don't know how you can say that. You've seen the Other Guy be pretty much the opposite of fine."

Although he didn't say it out loud, she could hear him ticking through a mental checklist of the Hulk's rampages: Culver. Harlem. The helicarrier. And those were just the ones she'd witnessed.

A slight smile cracked across his face, brittle as his voice. "I guess it's fitting we're headed to Pakistan. I broke a long streak there, too."

"And saved a village from bandits, according to your file."

"Which might have been written by Hydra agents."

Natasha had too much training in self-control to react; if she'd had less, she might have inhaled sharply, or flinched, stung. Apparently something gave her away, though, because Bruce hunched forward in his seat, raking both hands through his hair as he huffed out his breath.

"Sorry. It's just…I'd prefer to know who I'm working for."

Natasha appreciated that- to such a degree, in fact, that she'd cornered Maria after the mission briefing to give her the third degree about her source. Maria, however, remained tight-lipped. _"Believe me, Natasha, if I could tell you, I would. You just have to trust me on this one."_

"I trust Maria," she said.

Bruce nodded against the headrest but didn't look her in the eye. Something inside of Natasha buckled. He'd been so open with her earlier, about his childhood…about Betty… She thought he'd begun to trust her. One step forward, two steps back, as they said.

Or maybe this was just reality, reminding her of who they were and what they did, before she got too comfortable with the idea that she could have anything else.

"So does Cap," she said, a little louder, glancing across the jet where Steve had been watching them the whole time, unable to help but overhear their conversation.

"Believe me," he said in his rousing Captain America voice, "I'd like to know where Hill got her intel just as much as you. But if we have a chance to get that scepter out of Hydra's hands, and cut off one of their heads while we're at it, we don't have any choice but to take it."

Bruce nodded again, but still looked unconvinced.

"I promise," Steve went on, "we won't call for a Code Green unless it's absolutely necessary. We need you in there, scanning for the scepter's energy signature. And who knows what kind of chemicals we'll find in this lab. Your expertise will be invaluable."

"Romanoff's trained him," Tony added, "so I expect to see him in a catsuit doing ninja moves."

"Are we picturing Banner in the catsuit, or the Big Guy?" Clint asked.

"Both images are equally horrible and not ones I ever wanted to have in my brain." Bruce's voice was heavy with defeat, but Natasha thought she saw a glimmer in his eye as she caught his gaze and smiled.

"WILL NO ONE DECLARE ME VICTOR OF THIS GAME OF QUIET?"

At Thor's outburst, everyone snapped their heads to stare, except for Natasha and Bruce, who continued to look at each other. Now the amusement was unmistakable as his eyes, which had rounded in surprise, relaxed, the laugh lines appearing at the corners as his mouth twitched.

"Thor Odinson," Natasha said, turning a little reluctantly from Bruce, her deadpan easily mistakable for solemnity, "you slayed the quiet game."

He flashed his glorious grin. "So shall we vanquish our many-headed foes and retrieve Loki's scepter."

* * *

The heroin-slash-Hydra lab was hidden-unsurprisingly-in a network of caves in the Hindu Kush mountains. Actually, they weren't caves so much as ancient lapis lazuli mines that had long since ceased to produce gems. The quinjet flew into the area in stealth mode to avoid the inevitable barrage of machine gun fire which would trigger an inevitable Hulkout. "Which _would_ be one way to take out Hydra," Bruce remarked.

"But not the elegant way," Tony countered.

"I'm sure Agent Hill and _her sour_ ce would prefer the Avengers avoid an international incident," Steve added.

"Better make that inter _galactic_ ," Bruce attempted to joke, noting the scowl that crossed Thor's features at the mention of _elegance_. His fighting style wasn't actually words away from the Other Guy's. Not that Bruce found that reassuring.

Tense as he was about the mission and the likelihood of starting an international incident whether SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers wanted to or not, he noted that the nearer they came to their target in the Kowkcheh Valley, it was Tony's heart rate and blood pressure that peaked higher on the vital monitors. Bruce felt his forehead furrow in a mirror of Pepper's expression before they left New York, when she learned where Maria was sending them. _"At least it's not Afghanistan,"_ Tony had said with a shrug.

Pepper nodded, putting on a brave front for him, but even she knew it may as well have been; the mountain pass where Clint landed the quinjet had served the US' invasion of Afghanistan, of which nearby roads, badly in disrepair, still bore testimony as the dust settled.

Tony's role in that conflict wasn't lost on Bruce. The instability of the region after the fall of the Taliban provided the ideal environment for another terrorist organization to thrive beneath the infertile ground, which just happened to be the next generation of the very evil Steve had fought. A vicious circle of war in which Bruce now found himself caught. And he the resident pacifist.

His own vitals spiked on the monitor, and he drew deep breaths to calm himself. After a moment, he noticed he'd matched the tempo of his breathing with the steady blip of Natasha's pulse. He turned to find her watching him with an unblinking gaze and a slight smile.

The plan-if this went according to plan-was for the two of them to wait in the plane while the other four took out the artillery hidden in the rocky hillside and secure the base. At Cap's signal, Natasha would escort Bruce in. Although she hadn't objected to the battle plan, Bruce couldn't help but wonder whether she wouldn't prefer to be on the ground, with Clint-STRIKE Team: Delta, he remembered the old SHIELD footage-than be stuck here as a glorified bodyguard.

Or worse, babysitter.

"JARVIS," asked Tony, coming into the rear of the plane, eyes flickering briefly to the vital stat displays, "you got the scans of the base?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark. You will, of course, have limited visual from your suit, but Dr. Banner and Ms. Romanoff will have the full schematic here on the computers."

"So make sure your comms are open at all times," Steve said, slipping into leader mode as easily as if it were a well-tailored pair of trousers. "We've got about an hour of daylight left, and I'd prefer not to have to navigate this terrain in the dark."

"I think that's something we can all agree on," Natasha said, and Bruce nodded emphatically.

Tony's mask encased his face, and his voice sounded robotic over the comms. "Then let's go break bad. Guys."

"Is that a reference to the meth show?" Steve asked, strapping on his shield.

Tony turned back at the bay doors. "Mmm. I thought it was apropos, seeing as it ends shooting up a Nazi drug ring."

Steve heaved an extremely put-upon sigh. "I was gonna say no spoilers, but…"

Thor gave him a commiserating clap on the shoulder as they fell into step behind Tony. "Jane's friend Darcy shared the passwords to her Netflix and Amazon accounts with me so I might be entertained when Jane is out of her flat and gain a better grasp of your cultural references. Do any of you watch _Vikings_?"

Bruce decided this must be the Avengers' own weird version of watercooler talk.

"Ah, _Vikings_ …" Clint chuckled. "Or as I call it, _Game of Thrones Lite._ "

"I also enjoy _Game of Thrones_!" boomed Thor, cape swirling as he wheeled to Clint. "Who do you wish to sit the Iron Throne?"

Their voices trailed away as they disembarked the quinjet; the quiet they left in their wake rang in Bruce's ears. He was about to ask whether Natasha watched _Game of Thrones_ or _Vikings_ , just to break the silence, but thankfully she spared him that moment of idiocy by speaking first.

"Kinda pretty out there." She indicated the screen with a jerk of her chin, where they got an aerial view of their teammates splitting off into the scrubby landscape as Iron Man took flight.

Bruce shambled alongside her, taking his glasses out of his shirt pocket and putting them on. "I thought so, when I lived here. Especially this time of day, when the sun gets low behind the mountain."

Natasha started to respond, but the sudden snare drum roll of machine gun fire interrupted the conversation. Bruce jolted, heart hammering in his chest and pulse points. On the monitor, he saw Natasha's heartbeat accelerate slightly, but her fingers curled around his wrist, and she spoke to him in a tone that didn't sound the least bit rattled.

"An hour, Bruce, then we'll be flying off into the sunset. Or walking, if Cap'll let us take a moment to enjoy the landscape."

"Join the Avengers, see the world."

They didn't talk any more after that, the comms coming alive with chatter, screens displaying the visuals from Tony's suit. Bruce couldn't watch, nauseated by the abruptly swooping, swerving angles-he'd never done well on rollercoasters-especially in combination with the headache that developed from the audio and the increasingly present rumble of the Other Guy in his mind, wanting to get in on the action.

"Is that Hydra?" he asked, taking off his glasses again to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I mean, the people we're fighting out there…They are Hydra agents? Right?"

When Natasha didn't respond, he looked up. Her expression was obscured by the curls falling in her face as she hunched over the screens, but he saw rigid set of her shoulders, the way she folded one arm across herself and chewed the thumbnail of her other hand. She hadn't put on her gauntlets yet.

"Nat?"

She glanced sideways at him, mouth giving that wry twist. "Well…they're not wearing skull and tentacle armbands."

Even the single snort of a laugh he gave relieved his tension somewhat-though only for a second. Natasha turned back to the action, voice serious again. "They look local. But if they're not Hydra, they sure are wasting a lot of ammo defending a Hydra base."

"Yeah, but they may not have a choice," Bruce argued. "Hill mentioned mind control."

"They're still producing heroin-"

"Banner, Romanoff." Steve's voice crackled over the comms. "Do you read me?"

"Roger, Rogers."

Natasha threw another smirk Bruce's way. He didn't return it, feeling paralyzed as his ears registered that they were no longer picking up the sounds of artillery and laser blasts and the battle chatter of the team. Then his heart jump-started in his chest.

"You're up to bat."

"Stepping up to the plate." Grabbing her gauntlets, she tugged them on, powered up the widow's bites with a flex of her fingers, the glow reflected in her eyes. "Let's go, Big Guy."

Part of him-a _big_ part of him-liked that, if Bruce's lack of hesitation in following her to the bay doors of the jet was any indication. He did turn back as they creaked open, admitting dust and the hazy remains of daylight, but only to take his glasses out of his pocket and place them on one of the work stations.

"Just in case," he answered in response to Natasha's raised eyebrow. "I'd hate to be without, afterward, and I actually like that pair."

He almost wished he'd kept them on as they disembarked the quinjet and he had to squint against the dust that immediately swirled into his eyes.

"Stark's scanning for additional gunmen," Cap said as he and Thor strode up to meet them, shield and hammer brandished, and Bruce glanced up to see Tony flying low over the rocky hillside, "but we think we've cleared the perimeter. Barton's staked out on sniper duty in case the cavalry show up. Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Bruce felt woefully out of place with them as he trudged up the ragged terrain, unarmed and unarmored. He didn't even have proper shoes for this kind of thing. If this was going to be a habit, he'd have to do something about that.

They passed several bodies of gunmen, and he tried not to look, like the other three-with the exception of Natasha, who stopped to check their weapons were emptied of ammunition, or to lift a knife or a gun for herself-but he couldn't help himself. The only thing that allowed him to check impulse to drop down beside them and stop the blood flow was the fact that Clint's arrows seldom struck non-fatal areas, unless he wanted them to. Which in this case, he didn't.

When they reached the entrance to the mine, Bruce was almost relieved, until Thor broke through the iron door with one swing of Mjolnir and the low narrow shafts confronted him with what a terrible place this would be for the Other Guy to make an appearance. The light of sporadically placed lanterns revealed that at least Hydra had replaced the old timber ceiling struts that with metal. He leaned in for a closer look.

"Well what do you know." He huffed out a dry chuckle, and the others turned to look at him. He ran his hand over a beam. "Vibranium. Almost like they prepared for the eventuality of a Hulkout. Or tried to. It's cute."

The Vibranium might give everyone just enough time to escape before the whole mountain came down on top of them.

"It's cute that Stark's influence makes you think everything's about you," Natasha said as they resumed their deeper trek into the mine. "Maybe they have a Big Guy of their own."

"Thanks. That makes me feel a lot better."

"I try."

"Agent Hill did mention effects not typically associated with this _heroin_ ," Thor said, as though not entirely confident of the word. "Stark described it to me-"

"Of course he did," Steve mumbled.

Bruce leaned toward Natasha. "I guess this wouldn't be the ideal moment to mention the time Tony showed up at the Tower with a not insubstantial amount of pot."

"What?" She shoved his shoulder, almost pushing him into a wall. "And you didn't invite me?"

"Sorry. Maybe next time."

"Your heroin sounds rather like a substance we have on Asgard," Thor went on. "Only much less potent, of course. Our version would no doubt be lethal to humans-"

"Let's cut the chit-chat," said Cap, and Bruce drew back from Natasha to see they were approaching a branch in the tunnel. "Banner, you got JARVIS' schematic?"

He fumbled with the clasp of his leather shoulder bag, rifed through it for a tablet. He pulled up the scan they'd made when the quinjet flew over, holding it closer than normal due to the lack of glasses. Even so, he appreciated having something to do that made him feel slightly more like he was contributing to this mission.

"Yeah….Looks like we're picking up some interesting energy levels from the tunnel on the left."

They took that path, Cap ordering Thor to stay behind in case anyone-or any _thing_ -came out of the right. At first it was identical to the tunnel that led them to it, but gradually widened, and lightened, the lanterns replaced with fluorescent tube lights which reflected on the tiles and stainless steel that covered the floor and walls, more like a subway than a mine. Slightly less creepy to Bruce in terms of aesthetics, but still a confined space.

"Hey," Tony's voice crackled suddenly in their earpieces. "You guys gonna be much longer? It's just, Barton and I were thinking of hopping in the quinjet and making a run over to Kabul for shawarma, if it'll be awhile."

"Stark was thinking of doing that," Clint said.

"I take it you're reporting that everything's all clear outside?" Cap replied.

"Um, no. I'm reporting that our vitals show hunger pangs and a craving for good authentic shawarma."

"I am famished," Thor's voice came over the comm, "but shawarma would not be my preference. Unless of course Stark intends for that to be our traditional post-battle celebratory feast, in which case I will gladly partake."

"How about we wait to discuss this until we've actually had a battle?" Steve said, testily.

"Just planning ahead, Cap," said Tony. "Oh shit, incoming!"

"In my sights," came Clint's calm reply.

The walls trembled with whatever it was that had been _incoming_ outside. Although Bruce had repressed the Hulk up to this point, he was more present in his mind now, his skin tingled as though the Other GUy was nearer the surface.

"Thor, get out there and give them some backup!" Cap barked. "The three of us will find the scepter and get out."

"I'm on my way. Soon the victory shawarma shall be ours!"

Bruce switched off his earpiece. If he wanted to get this job done, the Other Guy didn't need the distraction of the fight outside.

In their hurry down the corridor, or perhaps because he was struggling now for control of his body, he dropped his tablet. When he picked it up again, he almost thought it had broken, despite Tony making these things damn near indestructible, because the energy levels indicated were so strong.

" _Very_ soon," he said. "We should be coming into the-"

He stopped just short of plowing into Natasha as the tunnel terminated abruptly at the entrance to a larger chamber.

"Lab," he finished, unnecessarily, as they goggled at the roomful of scientific equipment. It didn't have a patch on his and Tony's workspace, of course, or even the one on the helicarrier, but still. For a hidden underground laboratory, Hydra hadn't done too badly.

"And there's our skull and tentacles," he added, gaze settling on the red and black flag hanging on the opposite wall, above a trio of heavy doors that looked better suited to a dungeon than a science lab.

"Where's the scepter?" Steve asked.

"What, did expect to see it in a display case?" Natasha replied.

Bruce checked his tablet and gestured to the door beneath the flag. "The energy signature seems to be coming from-"

Natasha stepped around them, sidearm drawn. "Let's find out what's behind door number one."

Steve had no argument with that and strode after her. Bruce, on the other hand, stepped backward, almost out of the lab. Clutching the tablet tightly in both hands, he watched Natasha try the lock, while Steve reached over her to tear down the Hydra flag. He wadded it up like trash and pitched it into a corner, a look of mingled disgust and satisfaction on his face.

"Got it." Natasha tugged the door open. Bruce expected it to creak, but it opened silently on its hinges, the booms above ground still faintly audible.

She and Steve recoiled as a chemical odor, mingled with the stench of filth, emitted from the darkness beyond.

Bruce broke out into a sweat. His breath came rapidly, in shallow gasps. "What…what's in…?"

"Not the scepter," Steve said, coughing, as Natasha shone a light from her belt into the room.

He stepped aside as a hand groped around the edge of the door, then a ragged young woman emerged with her eyes closed. No, not closed, Bruce saw; her eyes were… _gone_. After her stumbled a boy who couldn't be older than twelve, also blind, then a girl, then another…They kept coming and coming, women and children, all of them blind.

Bruce was, too.

With Hulkrage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil cliffie is evil, I know, especially since I went two weeks between updates. ;) I've already begun work on Chapter 16, so I should have an update next Sunday at the same bat time, same bat channel. In the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you think! I had a blast writing this chapter, with the ensemble and all their shenanigans. If I spoiled anyone for _Breaking Bad_ , I'm as sorry as Tony is for spoiling Cap. ;) I also couldn't resist including more _Daredevil_ connections! I'm fascinated by the way the MCU co-exists.
> 
> Thanks for bearing with me last week while I went on hiatus to adjust to the back-to-school schedule and write my HulkWidowNet Fanwork Exchange fic--[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4650021>Never%20Lost%20You</a>,%20in%20case%20you%20missed%20it.%20I%20love%20this%20fandom!)


	16. No Rest for the Wicked

"Uh, Bruce?"

A frequently used phrase when he and Tony worked together in the lab, and Bruce responded without looking away from his screen. "Hmm?"

"Did you forget to put up the sign?"

A less frequently used phrase, which made Bruce look at Tony over the rims of his glasses. "Sign? What sign?"

" _No Girls Allowed in Clubhouse._ Preferably _house_ spelled with a _w_ and the _s_ written backwards, but I'm not picky."

"I…don't follow," Bruce mumbled with a shake of his head as he reverted his attention to the project. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Tony gesture; he tracked the sweep of the hand to the lab entrance, where Pepper, who'd stayed in New York for the long Fourth of the July weekend, stood with Natasha. "Oh, I wish we'd put up a sign."

In the past couple of weeks, he'd gotten used to Natasha dropping in on him in the lab while he worked, or bringing her own work with her to do here, with him, in companionable silence. Nevertheless, he hadn't expected her to visit today. Not after he'd compromised the mission. She'd kept out of his way during the flight back to the Tower from Pakistan, which was what he'd wanted. Even now, as she came in with Pepper, Natasha seemed to hold herself at a distance, moving warily. Like she had when she first approached him in May about moving in.

"Quick, hide Veronica!" Tony stage whispered, shoving his way between Bruce and the desk to commandeer his workstation and minimize windows.

"Veronica?"' Pepper raised an eyebrow.

Tony gave her a long look, then with a flick of his hand brought their project back up. "On second thought, I'm _not_ going to hide Ronnie away like some dirty little secret. I'm not ashamed of our love, are you, Bruce?"

"It's not what it sounds like," Bruce said before it occurred to him the warning was unnecessary; despite Tony's reputation as a former playboy, Pepper didn't seem at all concerned about other women, by Veronica or any other name.

"Luckily for you, I'm not really sure _what_ it sounds like," she said. "Natasha?"

"No damn idea," she replied, eyes on Bruce, but he only allowed his gaze to touch hers briefly before darting it back down to his desk, feigning interest in rifling through the notes and sketches littered on the sleek surface.

There were times when he appreciated that Tony demanded attention, and this was one of those times.

"Bruce has a filthy mind," he said.

Well-maybe _appreciated_ was too strong a word for how Bruce felt about this particular attention-grabbing moment of Tony's.

"Not that I can really blame him," he went on, "when we've been getting up close and personal with this beauty."

Stepping around the workstation, with all the flair of hosting his own personal Stark Expo, Tony made another hand gesture that brought a 3D rendering of what had been on the screen to the center of the room. The women studied it without comment, Tony's gaze darting between the two of them, eagerly awaiting their reactions. Bruce continued shuffling and shifting the papers, their reactions the very last thing he wanted.

After a long moment, Pepper offered, "A new suit?"

"She's… _curvy_ ," Natasha said.

"Hey," said Tony, spreading his arms wide, "we're body positive science bros."

"Some women come home to find their boyfriends trying on their shoes or dresses," Pepper said, turning to Natasha. "Mine experiments with robotic armor in varying body types."

"And names it Veronica," Natasha added, smirking.

"Actually what you're looking at now is called the Hulkbuster," Bruce said hastily, leaving the desk to approach the group before Tony could gleefully tell them why he'd chosen the name. "Which is the reason for the bulk."

Tony huffed in disapproval. "I prefer the term _full figured_."

Apparently, it had become Bruce's habit to glance at Natasha after Tony said things like that, because her eyes were already on him, giving him a knowing look before she rolled them toward the ceiling.

With slightly more effort than before, Bruce pulled his eyes back to the model, manipulating it with none of Tony's flair.

"The Hulkbuster suit is the Mark Forty-Four, but it's operated by the Mark Forty-Three. From inside. A suit within a suit."

" _Inceptioned_ ," Tony said.

"No, more like those Russian nesting dolls. Baba…Babushkas?" Bruce stumbled over the word, suddenly self-conscious about attempting to pronounce a Russian word in front of an actual Russian.

"Or Matryoshka," she said.

It was the only Russian word he'd heard Natasha speak, he realized. The language suited her husky voice. At once he tried to banish the thought from his mind, scratching the back of his neck where his hair tickled it just above the collar of his lab coat.

"Yeah, those."

"Operated from within," Pepper mused, eyebrows drawn together beneath her bangs as she circled the Hulkbuster image studying it from all angles. She stopped opposite Bruce, head snapping up, eyes wide. "You mean Tony would operate it to fight _you_?"

"The Other Guy," Bruce said.

He'd stopped scratching his neck to clutch the curling ends of his hair between his fingers, tugging hard enough to make his scalp tingle. Behind the lenses of his glasses, his gaze darted around the circle, not lingering on anyone, unable to bring himself to look them in the eye. Especially not Natasha, who he saw in his periphery had folded her arms across her chest, shoulders hunched in a protective stance he recognized. Protective but wary, gaze trained on him in an unblinking stare.

"I don't know what Tony told you about our mission to Pakistan," he said, "but…well…Things didn't go according to plan. I, um, went green and jeopardized the mission."

"Not really the words I'd use to describe it," Tony said.

"Don't think I want to hear the words you'd use," Bruce countered.

He half-hoped Natasha would contradict this, that she would say his role in the mission had been anything other than a disaster. However, she remained silent. What _could_ she say?

"We were lucky no one got hurt this time. Well, no one but Hydra agents…" His throat tightened, making it painful to swallow. Chitauri were one thing, but human beings, even if they were the "bad guys"-killing didn't sit well with him. "But it's foolish not to have a backup system in place for subduing the Hulk if he gets out of control."

"So you're going to haul that suit around on all of our missions, just in case?" Natasha said.

"Romanoff," Tony said. "Do you really think our brilliant minds would come up with something so _basic_?" He waved his hand, flinging away the Hulkbuster diagram, and pulled up Veronica. "The suit'll be up in space. Contained in a satellite I can activate and have delivered anywhere earth in, oh, seconds. I'm going to ask if Jane Foster can consult on that part…"

"But Veronica's more than a suit delivery service," Bruce said. "She's also a containment unit. So hopefully Tony will never have to fight me."

"The suit's the fail-safe for the fail-safe," Tony said.

"I see." Pepper watched the animation for a moment. "But why Veronica?"

"Pep, I just told you-"

"I mean the name. Or do I want to know?"

Tony looked at her as though this were the most obvious thing in the world. "From the _Archie_ comics."

Bruce turned away and resumed pretending to be busy at his workstation, hoping it would end there. He thought Tony's name for the project was funny, in its way, but not a lot of people shared his sense of humor. Even Betty used to say he got a little dark for her.

"Oh," said Pepper.

Thankfully, she let it go at that, and proceeded to grill Tony about whether he was going to spend her entire last day in New York holed up in the lab being a nerd; when Bruce stole a glance at Natasha, he saw her face was blank, as though she didn't understand. Super spy, master assassin, _Avenger_...but the _Archie_ comics were before her time.

His gaze lingered too long. Noticing his stare, Natasha abruptly turned away and strode from the lab, leaving him to be Pepper and Tony's third wheel.

* * *

With a sigh, Natasha minimized the work files she hadn't been able to concentrate on since her visit to the lab. Although it was far past a reasonable hour to still be sitting up at her desk, she opened her browser. Her fingers rattled across the keyboard, typing _veronica archie comics_ into the search bar. The Google results came up, and she hovered her mouse over the top one, finger poised to click on the Wiki entry for V _eronica Lodge_ when her eye skimmed down the second link: _Betty and Veronica (comic)_.

That alone was enough to explain why Tony chose the name for his Hulk-defense project, and why Bruce hadn't been able to look at anyone when Pepper asked about it. Apparently Natasha was a glutton for punishment, because she clicked the link anyway and spent the next few minutes getting up to speed on the history of Archie, the well-liked, well-intentioned, and bumbling teenager who lost his mind over pretty girls, and his longstanding love triangle with Betty, the quintessential girl-next-door, and her frenemy Veronica, the spoiled, sometimes selfish rich girl with a flair for up-to-the-minute fashion.

She closed her laptop and swiveled her chair around, biting her thumbnail as she mentally chewed on this new angle to the topic that had already preoccupied her all afternoon. Though she'd experienced the Hulkrage up close-closer than any other member of the team, in fact-she'd also gotten more personal with Bruce than she suspected the rest of the team had, as well, except possibly Tony. It seemed cruel that Bruce felt the need to help his best friend build a machine to subdue him, crueler still that Tony would give it a name linked with his ex.

A grouping of new art prints in the small sitting area caught her eye. The modern abstract paintings of earth tones broke up the monotony of grey wall. Bruce helped her pick them out online after their visit to the Met. She'd chosen next day shipping because why not, if it was on Stark's dime? They'd arrived while she was in Pakistan. Pepper had gone frame shopping with her this morning, and helped her hang them before their visit to the lab, where she'd hoped to find him mellowed out after the unplanned Hulkout rattled him.

"JARVIS?" The rasp of her own voice was jarring after hours of silence, the only sounds the tap of the keyboard and the click of the mouse, or the occasional grind of her chair's wheels against the plastic floor mat.

"Yes, Ms. Romanoff?"

"Dr. Banner wouldn't happen to still be in the lab, would he?"

"In fact he is."

She put her hands on the armrests to push to her feet, only to pause. "Is Stark with him?"

"Mr. Stark retired to the penthouse with Miss Potts, in concession to her early flight back to Los Angeles."

"Now there's a euphemism if I ever heard one," Natasha said as she stood. She lifted her arms over her head and rocked up on her toes to stretch.

"Mr. Stark programmed me with an impressive amount of tact."

"Impressive because he has none himself."

"Shall I tell Dr. Banner he's to have a visitor?" JARVIS demonstrated his tact again.

"Probably run away if he knew I was coming," Natasha muttered as she bent to retrieve the sneakers she'd toed off under her desk. She hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"I could lock him in."

She looked up with a quirked eyebrow, as though she thought she'd actually see an English butler standing there, like _Downton Abbey_ , hands clasped behind his back, dry humor concealed beneath a dignified mask even a super spy would envy.

"I was, of course, joking," JARVIS explained.

"Of course," she echoed, smirking a little as she crossed her room. "I'll surprise Dr. Banner."

Bruce did look surprised to see her, the opera aria that filled her ears as she opened the door having muted her entrance into the lab until he happened to look up from his desk. Natasha studied him as she approached, observing the way he didn't sit up straight in his chair so much as sit _back_. Recoiling from her, almost.

After the mission, on the quinjet, she'd given him the space his body language demanded, shoulders hunched, headphones clamped firmly over his ears. Blocking out the world, including her. At the time, she hadn't taken it personally; she had some experience, after all, with silencing multiple voices in her mind. But did he think they were _never_ going to talk about what happened?

"Natasha," was the only thing he said now.

"Still working?" An unnecessary question, answered by his mere presence here. Unfortunately, she had a pretty good idea that was the only kind of question that was going to get any kind of response from him.

Bruce took off his glasses, watched his fingers carefully fold the earpieces. "You know what they say. No rest for the wicked."

A cliché, but actually a good line. That gave her a few angles to work.

"What's Stark's excuse?"

The corners of his mouth twitched upward in a smile. A weak one, but Natasha would take what she could get.

"Come on," she said. "Take a walk with me."

Now it was her turn to be surprised when he didn't protest, just nodded and pulled off his lab coat. He joked that he should have left it on as they stepped out of the Tower into the pre-dawn chill, and Natasha offered to lend him her hoodie.

"You're very chivalrous," Bruce replied, "and also very petite."

"Suit yourself, _Big Guy_."

They didn't talk anymore after that; although they often walked silently together down Park Avenue, this wasn't the companionable kind Natasha was used to with him, despite the banter that preceded it. In concession to the cool temperature, Bruce had shoved his hands into his pockets, which made him walk with hunched shoulders. His tension was almost a tangible thing. Even so, by wordless agreement they walked straight to Greenacre Park.

Always an oasis in the midst of New York, the seclusion of the place enveloped them even more fully in the middle of the night. Only the roar of the waterfall on the far side broke the silence, its orange backlight drawing them toward it like moths to flame as they passed beneath the velvety shadows cast by the high stone walls. They bypassed the patio area where they usually sat, but Bruce cast a longing glance at the snack bar.

"Can't believe they're not open twenty-four hours. I could go for pie and coffee right now."

"Even Costco frozen pie? You must be desperate."

"I forgot to eat dinner."

"Veronica's a lousy girlfriend," Natasha said, and Bruce let out a snort of bitter laughter.

She sat on the furthest stone bench, the waterfall behind so that she faintly felt the cold spray at her back.

"Well isn't this romantic?" she said, looking up at him as he remained standing in front of her, hands still buried deep in his pockets. "We've got the place all to ourselves."

"It's a little disappointing," Bruce replied, "learning that people in this city _do_ sleep." One hand came up to rub his neck. "Just not us."

"I'd offer to sing you a lullaby," she replied, "but all the ones I know are all vaguely terrifying. Russians seem to think the best way to get kids into bed is to make them too afraid not to be."

"Maybe they should write one about me."

"Yeah. Thinking about what a boring dork you are would put even the worst insomniac right to sleep."

"Natasha…" He said heavily, hand sliding down the back of his neck to fall to his side, as though the ends of his fingertips were weighted. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but please don't make light off-"

"How would you know what I'm trying to do, when you've avoided me for the last day?"

Bruce glanced away, the light from the waterfall illuminating the flicker of his cheek muscle. "I thought you might appreciate a little personal space, after the Other Guy invaded it."

"I told you, I'm not afraid of-"

"You should be!" His voice reverberated off the concrete walls of the park. "Natasha, I haven't transformed involuntarily since the helicarrier. Yesterday I did it in a roomful of human trafficking victims. I could have-"

" _You didn't_. You didn't even try to hurt them. You smashed up the lab."

"Which isn't why you brought me along. You needed me to actually be a scientist and figure out what Hydra was doing there, with those people."

He'd cooked her eggplant parmigiana, Natasha thought. To thank her, after the Fridge, for making him feel like he was good for more than just his ability to smash things.

"We brought you along because you're part of the team. Both of you. The mission was a failure because Hill's intel about the scepter was wrong, not because you transformed. But even she doesn't consider it a total failure. We did take out a Hydra cell-rather efficiently, I might add, once the Big Guy went out to play."

Shaking his head, he turned away from her.

"Bruce, come sit with me." When he didn't move, she tried another tack. "The Big Guy actually listens to me, you know."

He pivoted back to her, brow furrowed. "What…what do you mean, listens to you?"

"I told him to stop scaring the kids and lay off the lab so the SHIELD scientists would have something left to examine. He kind of grunted about SHIELD, but he did stop. Then I told him to go outside and help Tony smash Hydra."

"And he did it?"

"Didn't have to ask twice. Please don't make me ask you again. It'll hurt my feelings."

Bruce shuffled toward her, lowered himself onto the bench, putting as much space between them that he had to be falling off the edge. Natasha slid over so that their shoulders touched. Through their sleeves, she felt his muscles tense.

"So the Other Guy took out Hydra troops," he said. "The fact still stands that I had an uncontrolled transformation in very close quarters with civilians."

"The civilians triggered your transformation."

"No, that's not how it works."

"Isn't it? Uncontrolled rage at a perceived threat?"

"To _me_."

Natasha gave him an incredulous look. "Those people were blind, Bruce, but you're myopic."

He shifted beside her, reaching into his breast pocket for his glasses. "Hyperopic, actually. They're just reading glasses."

"Myopic and a smartass." Growing serious, Natasha said, "Think about it, Bruce. You unexpectedly encountered a dozen vulnerable women and children who were being held captive and subject to abuse. I don't need to spell out how your subconscious may have worked that out into protective rage."

"No. You don't." Bruce seemed to be grinding his teeth, then he exhaled the tightly coiled tension in is shoulders seeping out of him as he raked both hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry. I know you don't like to think about your past, but-"

"Where are you going with this?" He turned his head, looking at her sideways from within the crook of his arm.

"You're in there. Even when the Other Guy takes over…"

She didn't like the term, because she was starting to think that Bruce's insistence on dissociation from his alter ego was detrimental to his ability to get control and harness his potential. She also knew if she wanted to get through to him, she'd have to meet him halfway.

"You learned how to change at will," she went on. "Why can't you learn to take control and change back, too?"

"It's a nice thought," Bruce said, "but once I let the rage take over it's like a wildfire. It just has to burn itself out. You saw that in Pakistan. The Other Guy threw boulders around once he ran out of tanks to turn into scrap metal. We were lucky the UN trucks Hill sent took their sweet time arriving, or he would've gone after them. I'm not willing to take that kind of risk again. Hence Veronica. You of all people have to appreciate a fail-safe."

"Of course I do. And I'm not opposed to the idea of Veronica-although the name's pretty tasteless."

To her surprise, Bruce smiled at that, the first genuine one she'd seen from him since the mission. "It's sweet of you to be offended on my behalf, but I actually kind of like Tony's irreverence." At her arched eyebrow, he added, "I think it's an acquired taste."

Natasha considered this. For all Bruce claimed that people should be afraid of him, he truly didn't want them to be.

"And I guess you're too much of a dork not to want to build the fat robot that comes out of a satellite, even if it is meant to beat you up?" She nudged his shoulder with hers, and he chuckled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"That, too."

"The thing about fail-safes," Natasha said, getting up and facing him, "is that they're meant to be plan B when plan A fails. So what if plan A doesn't fail?"

"There is no plan A."

"I think there could be. Did Tony tell you what happened when you were lobbing boulders around?"

Bruce's eyes rounded. "Why, what happened? I thought nothing happened."

"I approached you."

_"Hey, Big Guy_ ," she'd said. _"Bruce was supposed to go for a sunset walk with me. Can he come out and do that?"_

"Natasha," said Bruce, getting up. "Are you out of your mind?"

"He didn't mind. Actually, he seemed kind of happy to see me."

In fact, he'd snorted and stomped in obvious disapproval of her mention of Bruce, then picked up another, smallish boulder.

_"Okay then,"_ she'd said as he lumbered around to lob it in the direction of the setting sun, _"mind if I just hang out with you?"_

The big green face with the shock of black hair had looked back over his shoulder at her, contemplating her for a moment before he let it fall at his feet.

"I told him the people in the lab were safe. That he hadn't hurt anyone except for the bad guys who hurt them. That he did a good job."

She smiled at the memory of the normally sullen mouth twitching into something like a grin. Although she hadn't been sure in the glow of the mountain sunset, she thought his cheeks might have been tinged with pink.

"What did he do?" Bruce asked.

"He shook my hand. Kind of."

Bruce goggled. "What? You…you let him touch you?"

"It was more like he let me touch him."

She'd touched the underside of his wrist, stroking the pulse point, feeling the kettle drum beat of it decelerate as his green eyes held hers steadily. She'd thought a little of Bruce's familiar brown filtering through, until she said, _"Bruce likes that, too."_

The Big Guy really did not like mentions of Bruce, apparently, because he'd scowled and stamped off. Bizarrely, he reminded her of Clint's kids when Laura told them it was bedtime, and they insisted they were _not_ sleepy and _not_ going to bed. She'd watched him from a distance, a silhouette kicking rocks around, until inevitably he wore himself out and changed back.

"I think we can get you back, Bruce."

"We?"

"I want to be plan A."

His mouth opened and closed, mutely. She thought he would argue, even refuse outright. When he finally got a word out it was only to ask, "Why?"

"Do you think Fury welcomed me to SHIELD after my prior work for the KGB and as a mercenary without having a fail-safe?" Natasha replied. "That's what Phil Coulson was for me." And Melinda May. Trusted agents, who wouldn't shrink from doing what was necessary should Clint's hunch about her turn out to be misplaced. It hadn't, of course, and eventually they'd been able to have drinks together at the end of a hard day, commiserating over Stark babysitting duty.

"And Barton was your Plan A?" Bruce asked.

"You catch on fast, Banner. You a genius or something?"

He laughed softly, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he cut his eyes up toward her.

"I haven't agreed to anything yet, but I'm open to the idea."

"Why don't we go find a diner and talk about it over coffee and pie?" Natasha suggested.

Bruce glanced at his watch. "Actually, it's time for breakfast. I know a place with great cinnamon rolls."

As they left the park, the Manhattan skyline was aglow with the rising sun.


	17. Green-Eyed Monster

"Waco," Natasha turned her head where it lolled against the couch cushions. "That's where that cult was, right?"

"Branch Davidians," Clint replied, not taking his eye off the TV.

"David Koresh?"

" _Mmm-hmmm_ ," he murmured around a mouthful of burger.

"Huh." Natasha reverted her gaze to the screen, where a Texan husband and wife design team were renovating a farmhouse for a physician couple with a growing family. "I guess having an HGTV show set there's a smart PR move for the city."

"Guess so." Clint took another bite. "Think some of the Branch Davidians are still there."

"Didn't their compound burn down?"

"Lucky this couple's close by. Fix 'er right up."

Natasha's mouth was too full of French fries to make a reply other than to give a snort of laughter; after she swallowed, talking seemed like too much effort. Apparently Clint thought so, too, because their conversation lapsed for the next few minutes. At the commercial break, he muted the TV, swigged his beer, and flopped his head back against the cushions, rubbing his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

"We really gotta find that scepter soon, Nat."

She agreed, technically, though right now she hoped that by _soon_ he meant _later_. They'd only returned from taking out a Hydra cell in Siberia an hour ago, and it would be nice to at least let this burger digest before Hill sent them out again.

"But if we do that," she replied, swirling a couple of fries through the paper burger wrapper spread on the sectional, "you'll have to go back home, where there's no cable. Then how will you make me sit through endless episodes of _Fixer Upper_?"

"You can come with me. Watch a little of the live version."

"Yeah, I'm not falling for that ploy. You're just trying to recruit cheap labor for your own fixer upper farmhouse."

"Cheap? When did I ever pay you?"

"My point exactly," Natasha said. "I know I have a debt to pay, but construction wasn't really what I had in mind."

"Hey," he said, nudging her foot with his on the coffee table. "No more of that debt talk. We're even, remember?"

They never would be, of course, but Natasha nodded.

"Anyway," Clint went on, "I do have a form of payment in mind."

"Don't bother. It can't compete with my Avengers salary."

"I'll name my third born after you." He un-muted the TV, but talked over the designers' Texas twangs. "Wait, you get an Avengers salary?"

"We all do. The _useful_ Avengers-Did you just say your third born?"

"Not up to your usual speed, Nat. You'd think hanging out with the geek squad would keep you sharp."

Her brain did feel like it was working like an old computer to process this new development a. At last it got there, and she felt the slow stretch of a smirk. "Well I guess we all know what you got up to during your summer vacation, Barton."

"Cute."

"Just think how cute little Natasha will be."

"You know, on second thought…"

He trailed off, and she caught him in a hug before he could see her blinking against an unexpected sting in her eyes and make fun of her for getting all mushy on him. Her slightly choked voice betrayed her, though.

"I'm really happy for you and Laura."

"Me, too," Clint replied, but he let out a long breath and leaned heavily against her.

Natasha rubbed his back, lightly at first, then harder as she kneaded the knots along the edges of his shoulder blades. The muscles between them pulled as tight as his bowstring. If she didn't know him as well as she did, she would've assumed the tension was from the battle; her own aches and pains certainly were. But his body told her a deeper story than that, deeper even than the weight of knowledge he carried into every mission, that he might not return to the farm to the wife and two-soon to be three-children he was fighting to make the world safe for. Loki's scepter had done something much worse than take him from them. It had destroyed him, for a time, made him into the very thing he fought against. She would never forget the way he'd looked at her with desperate eyes and asked, _Do you know what it's like to be unmade?_

"We'll find the scepter soon."

Whatever he said about her debt to him, she owed him that. She owed anyone that.

Over his shoulder, she saw a head of dark curly hair duck into the hall.

"Bruce." She released Clint, and the bespectacled face re-emerged around the edge of the doorframe. Was it just the lighting, or was his face a little red? "Thank God, I thought I was gonna be stuck watching remodeling shows all night."

"Uh, you are, unless you're ditching me?" Clint said.

"Sorry," Bruce replied. "Got a little absorbed in the data we found in Siberia."

He tended to disappear after missions, either to rest, if there was a Code Green-what Tony had taken to calling intentional Hulkouts, in a slightly less offensive fit of naming than Veronica-or to research, if there wasn't. Today there hadn't been-hence the rest of them being a little sorer, and more tired, than when the Big Guy helped out. But relations between the US and Russia since Viktor Petrov took office had regressed to a Cold War mentality. Infiltrating the country under his watch, which was full of his old KGB buddies, required subtlety, and the Hulk was anything but that. Bruce had actually been relieved to stay on the quinjet. He'd agreed to work with her on a de-Hulking process, but he was leery of doing so until all Veronica's bugs were worked out.

"Find anything interesting?" Natasha asat up straighter on the sectional, and Bruce stepped a little further into the room, a slight smile curving on his lips, although he clasped his hands together, thumbs working in that awkward way of his.

"Maybe. JARVIS is sifting through it all now."

"So, still have time for _The Thin Man_?"

Bruce looked pleased at her reference to the plans they'd made during the flight from Siberia for movie night, but his smile fell as his eyes flickered to Clint, who'd apparently gotten bored with them, eyes glued to the TV as he stuffed fries into his mouth.

"Um…" Bruce scratched the back of his head. "Yeah, unless…"

Natasha grabbed the remote control off the coffee table and switched to the classic movie channel.

"Hey!" Clint protested, "I was watching that!"

She patted his thigh. "Just preparing you for life after the scepter."

* * *

The first time the Hulk took out the Hydra agent Clint had in his crosshairs, no one on the team, including Clint, thought much about it. It was a Code Green, after all, and Cap hadn't called one for shits and giggles-not least of all because he'd never use the word _shits_. They all had their own backs to watch, with camouflaged soldiers as abundant as the mosquitos in this swampy Congolian forest where Hill's _source_ had sent them.

And the Widow's Bites might as well be bug zappers, Natasha thought, gritting her teeth as she drove her fists into a combatant. Old tech. SHIELD would've upgraded her by now; she'd have to see what Stark could come up with, now that Veronica was more or less operational.

The second time it happened, Stark's voice crackled over the coms: "Barton, you know that saying, _You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take_? Yeah…Think we're gonna need to change that: _You miss one hundred percent of the shots the Hulk takes for you._ "

"I'll make a memo to let Wayne Gretzky know," Clint deadpanned.

"That's the greatest hockey player ever, in case you were lost, Cap," said Stark.

"Eh." Natasha let the body drop, spasming, into the mud.

"Of course the Russian has an opinion on that," Stark said.

"Less chatter over the comms, please?" Cap requested, and Natasha saw his shield go spiraling past, taking out a couple of soldiers like bowling pins.

"But hockey's as Canadian as maple syrup and royal mounties. Would you be okay with chatter if it was about that great American pastime, baseball?"

Natasha could almost hear Steve's longsuffering expression over the comms. "That's the problem with Stark. You shush one poorly-timed joke, two more come out of his mouth."

Cap actually huffed out a chuckle at that, but Stark-of course-took her comment as a challenge to rise up to.

"I prefer the terms _witty banter_ or _clever wordplay_. Barton, incoming."

"Got 'em."

With a roar, the Hulk sloshed through the marshy ground, sloshing more slime onto Natasha as he thundered past her. If she didn't know better, he threw an almost apologetic glance backward over his shoulder before he leapt onto the agent Clint had just fired on from the trees.

"Dammit, Banner! I _had_ that guy!"

Natasha had a moment to glance up at Clint's perch in a tree, where he glowered as he nocked another arrow, before she was rolling out of the line of fire.

Usually the Hulk was silent over the comms, but he growled, almost as if in argument.

"The Big Guy disagrees," Natasha said. "You should be glad you've got your own personal bodyguard right now."

"Not really the vibe I'm getting from him."

"Maybe if you stopped calling him Banner. Big Guy doesn't like that, even though it's not an insult."

"I can think of a few insults, if he'd prefer."

A soldier leapt over a fallen log, and she took his legs out from under him so that he dropped his weapon as he fell. She took it and turned it on him, relishing the weight of the heavy artillery in her hands, the familiar ricochet of her body with its momentum when she fired.

"Maybe he wants to be your new partner," Natasha suggested. "Strike Team: Gamma."

"He's going to have to learn about teamwork if he wants to be anyone's partner," Cap said.

"I can find little fault in a man-or monster-who thirsts for glory in battle," Thor's booming voice rang in Natasha's ear.

"You know what I'm starting to find fault in? Barton's aim," Stark said as a massive green shoulder became the target for the arrow Clint had just fired. "Need glasses, _Hawkeye_?"

The _clever wordplay_ hovered over the swamp like the morning mist burning off the river as the Avengers collectively held their breath to see how the Hulk responded to being accidentally shot by a teammate. Natasha's gaze flickered upward, where Iron Man hovered over the tree line, and hoped this wouldn't be the time for Veronica's first appearance.

The Hulk reached back, plucked the arrow from his shoulder as if it were no more than a splinter or a thorn he'd brushed against, and examined it. The green eyes narrowed, then swung up to meet Natasha's as one corner of his mouth hitched in a smirk.

"Puny arrow." He tossed it over his shoulder and splashed off through the swamp in the direction of a rumble of engines.

"We got boats coming in from up the river," Stark said. "Also, I'm pretty sure the Hulk just compared dick sizes."

"Yeah." Clint at last put an arrow into a straggling soldier, now that the Hulk had gone. "That's the vibe I got."

"Of course we'll never know for sure, thanks to the magical growing pants."

"For which Bruce is eternally grateful," Natasha said, trudging off through the bog after the Big Guy.

His usual post-Code Green mortification would be worse than usual when Tony inevitably told him about the… _male rivalry_ …he'd displayed. First things first: finish off this Hydra cell, and bring Bruce back.

By the time she and Clint caught up to the others, the Hydra soldiers _were_ more or less finished off. A few bodies littered the marshy ground down to the river, some still in their death throes. Cap loomed over one, presumably questioning him, but he left off and approached the latecomers.

"The base is upriver," he told them.

"And Banner?" Natasha asked, still breathless from the muddy hike and the fight before.

Cap jerked his chin down the riverbank. "Stark was keeping an eye on him till you got here."

"Yeah, well. Some of us aren't gods, super-powered, or wearing flying suits," Natasha said, raking off through the reeds.

Behind her, Clint's boots splooshed in the mire as he started to follow, but Cap called him back.

"Barton, you're with Thor and me. After what happened back there, I don't think seeing you will make the Hulk too eager to change back. Stark's got her back."

Even without seeing Clint, it was clear as soon as Natasha stepped out into the clearing at the edge of the river that the Hulk wasn't going to be eager to change back. He stood knee-deep in the water, a speedboat-or what remained of it-in each hand. Muddy, with bodies floating around him, he looked like a macabre imitation of a little boy playing with toy boats in a drainage ditch after a storm.

"Hey, Big Guy," she said.

He looked up, lip curling in a petulant expression as he raised the boats over his head, then brought them crashing down. Natasha recoiled at the spray of swamp water-which now included dead people as well as who knew what other pollutants of western Congo.

"Oops," said Stark, circling above, "forgot to warn you that if you stand in the Splash Zone, you will get wet during the show."

"You haven't been working and playing very well with others today," Natasha said, approaching the edge of the water.

"Are you talking to me or Banner?"

"Shut up, Stark."

"Hmm…It could also apply to you."

Ignoring him, Natasha waded in, the mud sucking at her boots.

Hulk scowled and slapped the water again. This time, his boats splintered so that there was barely anything left, just the motors.

"See, that's why we don't throw tantrums. Otherwise we break our toys, and then there's nothing left to play with."

The green eyes glinted at her before he turned and hurled the motors downriver with a roar.

"Are you finished?" Natasha asked when the sound ceased to echo, wading in still deeper. "Because I wasn't. I was going to tell you we couldn't have done it without you today."

He grunted, and some of the ragey lines that contorted his face relaxed their hold, revealing more of Bruce. She held up her hand. His heavy brow furrowed above skeptical eyes, but he shuffled toward her, the pull of his powerful legs making waves that lapped against her uniform.

As his fingers brushed hers, she added, "We're a team, Big Guy. You, Stark…"

Hulk rolled his eyes upward, where Iron Man hovered to give him a wave. "Hey, buddy."

"…me…"

A low sound, not a growl, emitted from the Hulk's throat, so deep that Natasha felt it vibrate through her.

"Barton."

Now the low sound was definitely a growl, and the huge hand withdrew so quickly that Natasha lost her balance, only remaining upright because her boots were suctioned to the riverbed.

"What's the deal?" Stark asked. "He was fine with He-Who-Apparently-Must-Not-Be-Named on the last mission."

"I don't know." Natasha backed out of the water as she watched the Hulk stomp around, flinging broken bits of boat and bodies around.

"Hulk seems to like who Bruce likes and dislike who Bruce dislikes," Tony went on. "We're his favorites, obviously."

Natasha hoped he couldn't see her grin from his vantage point, or whatever visuals he had inside the suit.

"Have he and Clint ever even, you know, spoken words to each other?"

"One or two."

"Maybe it's just a guy thing."

She didn't reply right away, a thought occurring. After she'd asked him about the state of things between him and Betty Ross, he'd asked about her and Clint, as if they were a couple. At the time, she hadn't chalked it up to anything more than his usual awkwardness, but now she wondered…He couldn't be…jealous?

"What are you smirking about, Romanoff?"

"You said maybe it's a guy thing, but he just seems like a big kid right now."

"Uh, _duh_. If you haven't noticed by now, men are just big children."

"Oh, believe me, Stark. I've noticed. You're the biggest of all."

"Size _does_ matter."

Well, she'd set that one up.

Wading back into the water, Natasha called, "Hey, big guy. You're looking really tired out there, and the sun's getting low." It wasn't, in fact; her eyes went to the sun, which had just climbed above the treetops, but Hulk didn't seem like a stickler for time. "Why don't you get some rest? You deserve it, after that big fight."

_Fight_ was a poor choice of word, because, like a child, he did fight it. Or try to. Soon, the Hulk was stumbling toward the shore as his body contorted back into the smaller, less green, and less clothed form of Bruce Banner. She turned her back to let him come to with a semblance of privacy.

Later, when they were aboard the quinjet, Bruce dressed in the spare set of clothes he'd brought along in case of a Code Green, Tony said, "You know, now that Veronica's kinks are worked out-well. I mean, she's still got _kinks_ , if you know what I mean. Which Steve doesn't, cover his virgin ears, someone. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, we have time on our hands again. We should design some pants that grow _and_ shrink with you. Or at least solve the mystery of why yours don't. If Romanoff's going to be holding your hand through these transformations, we should spare her the sight of your pasty ass. And you the indignity of awkward public nudity."

Bruce had remained silent during Tony's speech-not that anyone could've gotten a word in-although some of his feelings had flickered across his face. Now, he spoke up in a voice hoarse with fatigue. "That's…surprisingly thoughtful of you."

"It is," Natasha agreed. "Although for the record, it's not awkward for me. Banner's got a pretty nice ass."

"Didn't I tell you, Bruce?" Tony pointed at Natasha. "Of course we owe it all to your personal trainer."

Bruce blushed, and Natasha glanced away, smiling to herself.

Until she accidentally made eye contact with Steve, who was watching her with a _very_ interested expression.

"Don't even think about it, Rogers."

"What's that they say about payback?"

"It's a word you don't say."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I posted last week's installment, I realized I'm much nearer to the ending of this fic than I was aware of! If all goes to plan, Chapter 20 will be the final one, which means there are only three more to go. I hope you enjoyed this one! It was fun, if a little nerve-wracking, to finally write a bit of proper battle action, including the Big Guy. I couldn't resist letting Clint watch more HGTV, or making a House of Cards reference. Did anyone catch it? Since the MCU seems to avoid referring to real-world political leaders, I thought there was no one more perfect for a Putinesque Russian president than Viktor Petrov. ;) I hope you'll let me know what you think, and I also hope everyone who has so far knows how much I've appreciated your enthusiasm about this story. It's kept me writing and updating regularly!


	18. Costumed Heroes

One of the few perks of Bruce's condition was that mission debriefs seldom bored him like they did the others-with the exception of Thor, who lived to re-live the glories of the battlefield. ( _"Although it would be better with flagons of mead_ ," he suggested, an idea which Tony was completely onboard with, but which Steve met with a flat _no_.) Not that Bruce enjoyed hearing about the Other Guy's exploits, but at least having no memories of Code Greens meant that debriefs were all new information. He didn't have to think about them any more than was necessary.

Usually.

Before he put on his headphones and steadfastly ignored everyone on the flight back from Congo, he gathered enough between Tony's bouts of laughter to know that this was one meeting he'd rather not be present for.

"I'd call Congo a success." Maria Hill put down the tablet with the mission report and the notes she'd added to it during debrief, and looked around the long table in the conference room. Bruce glanced away before she could catch his eye and saw Barton lean back in his chair, swing a foot onto the table, and fold his arms across his chest.

"Except for that part where our mission was to find Loki's scepter…"

"…and we returned yet again empty-handed," Thor finished for him, unnecessarily, in a voice like a building storm.

"So basically the _opposite_ of success," Tony offered.

"A failure," Thor said.

Stifling a laugh, Bruce glanced across the table to find Natasha already looking at him, the corner of her mouth curved slightly upward, clearly sharing his thought: Did Thor really think Tony didn't recall the word? Their gazes held across the table until, abruptly, she turned her head at Cap's voice. Bruce looked down at the table, aware that his heart was racing and his palms left sweaty imprints on the glass tabletop.

"We still cleared out another Hydra base. That's never a failure in my book, even if it wasn't our primary objective."

"Steve's right," said Hill. "In the absence of SHIELD, that's just as important for world security as finding the scepter. And it's only a matter of time before we do."

"God, I hope not much more time," Barton muttered, unfolding his arms to pass a hand across his brow.

"Being on call like this is really cramping Barton's vibrant sex life." Natasha cast a sidelong glance at him, which he met from between his fingertips. One of their secret, silent conversations.

"No," Tony snorted, "that would be his _puny arrow_."

"You laugh, Stark," boomed Thor, "but to a creature like the Hulk whose sole weapon is the might of his own bare hands, a bow and arrow would, indeed, seem unimpressive."

"Dude, seriously?" Barton's feet thudded to the floor. "After I stuck up for you in New Mexico?"

"I'm so lost," Hill said, looking at Steve. "What's this about? Or do I-?"

"No. You really don't."

Tony gave a cough which sounded suspiciously like _giant green dicks_. Could Bruce say he felt a cold coming on? Or the flu? Or something he'd picked up in Congo? _Excuse me, I'm just going to go quarantine myself in the lab_ …

Of course, Tony's outburst compelled Steve to explain. "Hulk kept interfering with Barton's targets."

Hill's chair creaked as she sat forward. "Interfering? How?"

Bruce felt her eyes on him-everyone's eyes-but he shook his head vaguely and stared at the handprints on the table.

"Wouldn't let me get a damn hit," Barton said.

"Deliberately?"

"Sure seemed like it."

Natasha leaned toward him and asked in a low voice, "Did we consider the angle that the Big Guy has a crush on you?"

"He insulted my arrows."

"Maybe he just thought you couldn't protect yourself from the big bad Hydra soldiers. Like a damsel in distress."

Bruce's collar felt like hot pinpricks at the back of his neck.

"I just want to know if it's going to be a problem, Hulk and Barton on the field together," Cap asked so pointedly that Bruce had to meet his eye.

"No. Of course not." That sounded a little too definitive when the truth was that Bruce just didn't know. He scratched his neck, raked his fingers up through the shaggy hair above his collar, and tugged at the roots. "I mean, it never has been before."

"You can't think of anything I might've done to piss the Other Guy off?" Barton asked. "Or you?"

"I don't think we've ever talked enough for you to piss me off."

" _Ouch_ ," Tony said.

"No, it's a valid point," Clint said, thankfully not offended; it hadn't sounded that mean in Bruce's head.

But he had other things to worry about now than his own social awkwardness, as several things hit him at once.

The first was that while he and Clint hadn't talked enough to piss anyone off, Clint and Natasha had. The second was that Tony, while crude, was not wrong. Neither was Natasha, not totally, even if she had been joking about the Other Guy having a crush.

 _This guy_ had a crush.

On Natasha.

Bruce stood so suddenly that he stumbled over his chair as he bolted for the door. "Picked up something in Congo," he muttered on his way out of a debriefing which had proved more enlightening than any other to date.

* * *

"JARVIS?"

"How may I be of service, Dr. Banner?"

 _Can you tell me if these pants make my butt look big?_ he was tempted to say, eying his reflection in the full-length mirror dubiously. Of course that made him think about Natasha saying he had a nice ass, even though he knew _she_ probably-no, _definitely_ -hadn't given the remark a second thought.

Admonishing himself to stay on task, he asked instead, "Is there anyone in the training room?"

"The training room is unoccupied."

"Thank you, JARVIS."

"My pleasure, Dr. Banner."

Giving his mirror image one final sweep, he shook his head and turned away, grabbing a hooded sweatshirt off a hanger as stepped out of the walk-in closet. The light flicked off automatically when he closed the door behind him, and he pulled the hoodie on over his t-shirt, tugging the hem down as far as it would stretch over his hips. With a huff of breath, he exited his room and hurried down the hall for the elevator, praying he wouldn't run into any of the others. Tony had been down in SI all day, Natasha wasn't even in New York; she'd gone somewhere with Barton the day after they got back from Congo, which made Bruce's plan to deal with his newly realized crush by spending less time alone with her easy. He had no idea where Steve and Thor were, but they were the two least likely to laugh at him, so what was he so worried about? He made himself slow down and walk like a normal, not-socially awkward grown man through the Manhattan high rise where he lived with his fellow superheroes, and made it down to the gym without encountering another single soul.

Until he grabbed the door handle and saw Natasha.

"Did you lie to me, JARVIS?"

"At the time you asked if the training room was unoccupied, it was. I'm only a program, Dr. Banner. I'm not capable of lying."

"You could be if Tony told you to tell me there was no one-" Now he was just being paranoid. Tony didn't know about Bruce's crush. If he had, he'd never hear the end of it. As it was, the only thing he was currently not hearing the end of was arrow jokes, and he had to avoid cooking anything with zucchinis or cucumbers. "Never mind, JARVIS. Sorry."

"No apology necessary, Doctor. Enjoy your workout."

Bruce caught himself nodding, as if JARVIS could actually see him.

Months had passed since he'd come to exercise only to find Natasha already in the gym, and debated running away before he made a jackass out of himself in front of her. He'd never done it yet-run away _or_ be too big of a jackass, come to think of it-yet here he was, back at the start. In their dozens of workout sessions, he'd worn sweats, not these ants Tony designed to eliminate his little post-Hulkout nudity problem.

And the Other Guy hadn't revealed himself to be a different kind of green-eyed monster than the usual raging variety.

 _Dear God…_ He leaned back against the opposite wall, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes, then raking his hands through his hair. If onlyit had been as uncomplicated an emotion as rage. Now there was a wish he never thought he'd make. He almost laughed aloud at the absurd irony of it.

He did smile. He couldn't help himself. He'd missed Natasha while she was…wherever she'd been. It was understandable that she'd needed to go away for a bit; with the Avengers' presence increasing in the world security stage, the presence of reporters and paparazzi around the Tower, did too, making it difficult for them leave without being mobbed. The cosplayers were back, too, as Halloween approached. If he'd hoped absence would help him get some distance, in fact the old adage about hearts growing fonder only proved itself true. The mere sight of her made him happy. Even if that sight of her was suited up, attacking the punching bag with the same lithe ferocity she applied to Hydra agents and Chitauri. Yet there was a grace to her movements, too, almost dance-like.

Screwing his eyes shut, he chided himself for looking at her this way. She was his friend, his teammate…He hadn't always looked at her with a dopey grin…at least, he was pretty sure he hadn't. Just when that had changed-when he'd _fallen for her_ -he couldn't say for sure. A slow descent, for him not to become aware of it until he was in over his head-head over heels-although he must've been well on his way on the Fourth of July for him to go fishing for what exactly was going on between her and Clint.

Which made it all the more ridiculous that the Other Guy apparently considered Barton a rival for her interests. One, because Bruce believed her when she said they were just friends. Two, because Natasha didn't have interest in him.

That wasn't the problem. Bruce resigned himself long ago to a solitary, celibate existence. He'd even gotten used to living with unrequited love-or at least love that could never be.

No, the problem was that even if Natasha didn't return his feelings, she couldn't be unaware of them. She was an intelligent woman-it was one of the qualities that attracted him-and read people like books. She'd been so quiet on the flight back to New York. Doing the math? If she hadn't then, she surely would have while she was gone. The result would ruin their friendship, and probably their dynamic on the team, as well.

Bruce jolted at the sudden crackle of light as she used her Widow's Bites on the punching bag. Her lips parted in a grin, then she spoke to someone just out of his view. Momentarily. Tony stepped around the bag, eyes snapping from Natasha to meet Bruce's from across the gym and through the glass. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to run, but he was caught, like the proverbial deer in the highlights. _"Hey_ ," Bruce read his lips, _"look who decided to join the party."_

Natasha turned her head. The corners of her mouth did, too, upward in that barely there little smile of hers which nevertheless made his stomach do gymnastics at the thought of her being pleased to see him, and set him into motion. He pushed off the wall, pulled open the door, and wracked his brain for something to say that didn't sound like something a friend wouldn't say.

"Well now I know what electrified punching bag smells like."

He anticipated the upward twitch of Natasha's eyebrow before it happened. That definitely sounded like something a friend wouldn't say-although at least in his favor, not in the way he wanted to avoid.

"New suit?" he added, only to realize he'd really swung from one side of the pendulum to the other.

If it perturbed Natasha, her face gave no indication of it as she countered, "New pants?"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, as if that would stop the prickle. "Your seams glow."

"That's the charging system for the Widow's Bites," Tony explained. "Her old ones didn't have quite enough oomph, but these-well, see exhibit A." He swept his arm toward the punching bag. "Also, I thought they'd really make her eye color pop."

"Her-" Bruce began as Natasha said, "My-"

"-eyes are green," they finished on top of one another.

Tony's darted back and forth between them, mischief glinting in the dark irises. Bruce pleaded silently to anyone who might be privy to his thoughts not to let Tony realize…

"Okay. If you're done finishing each other's sandwiches….I didn't take Bruce's eye color into account when I designed the stretchy pants. Or the Big Guy's. An oversight which I now deeply regret. But Mark Two can have glowy piping-that would be the correct fashion design term."

"I would be more than okay without glowy anything."

"Does that mean this pair's all good? How do they feel?"

Resolutely not looking at Natasha, Bruce replied through his teeth, "Tight."

Tony gave a _hmm_ of unconcern."Well, you know. It was a fine line between preserving your sense of modesty and depriving Natasha of the sight of your shapely derrière."

"I appreciate your focus on aesthetics," she deadpanned.

"I just don't believe in function over fashion," Tony said after her as she sauntered back to the punching bag, adjusting her gauntlets around her wrists.

"I mean in the ankles," Bruce said. "Do the legs have to be…" He looked down where his sneakers emerged from the narrow openings, and cast about for the _correct fashion design term_. "…tapered?"

"Yes. Yes they absolutely do."

"I don't believe you." Shaking his head, Bruce moved to help Natasha take down the punching bag she'd literally beaten the stuffing out of. "There is no way they have to be cut like skinny pants to grow and shrink back to normal sized pants. I'm not a twentysomething hipster."

"That doesn't mean you can't look a little cooler than a fortysomething nerd. That's my contribution to this team, you know."

"You know, Stark," said Natasha, as she dragged the bag to the wall, where a couple of spares lay, "you're kind of reminding me of the costume designer in _The Incredibles_ right now."

Bruce boggled that Natasha had watched an animated film, then jumped to grab one end of the bag and help her carry it over. Her lips curved in a small smile of thanks.

"That reminds me," said Tony, "I should speak to Thor about his cape…"

Bruce boggled even more that _Tony_ had watched an animated film. But getting back to the matter at hand…

"If you're trying to make me look cool, you failed, because I'm pretty sure I just look like a mid-life crisis."

"Natasha…" Tony's voice was heavy with longsuffering-there was a rare role reversal. "You have the most fashion sense on this team next to me. Is there anything wrong with Bruce's pants?"

"Honestly I'm with Tony on this one." She cringed a little, clearly hating to admit it. "I don't get why you're so self-conscious. You could walk into any yoga studio in the city and see dudes wearing pants just like that."

"Not _just_ like that," Tony said, "those are unique, a fabric I invented based on some old Pym research I dug up from the depths of deleted files, but I see what you're trying to say, Romanoff."

She rolled her eyes and resumed setting up the punching bag as he prattled on.

"Broga pants. It's a portmanteau. Yoga and bros- _Science_ Broga pants." Tony paused, face lighting up in that way that made Bruce simultaneously dread and look forward to what was coming. "Oh my god…Do you know what this means? We can start a whole athletic clothing line."

"We?"

"I'd design, you'd model."

Bruce's mouth opened and closed. " _I_ would?"

"You're always grumbling about how no one wants Bruce Banner merchandise, it's all Hulk hands and action figures that say, _Smash!_ Well. Problem solved."

"Speaking of problems solved," Natasha said, "you made pants that grow with the Big Guy but shrink back down for Bruce, but not a shirt?"

"The Hulk can't wear a shirt! It would be brand suicide to hide those rippling pectorals."

"So when he changes back to Bruce and we're in Siberia, he just gets to be shirtless and cold?"

Bruce appreciate Natasha's concern about his physical comfort, but said, "In fairness, I don't think the Other Guy would really go for a shirt."

"You can bring him one when you do your thing," Tony said. "Speaking of, are you two gonna test out the pants?"

Bruce was tempted to steal Rhodey's line about how Tony always had to make it weird, but decided against drawing attention to the fact that things _could_ be weird between him and Natasha when, for the moment, they were actually pretty normal. A team united against Tony's crazy. Maybe that was the secret to saving their friendship, just having Tony around as their third wheel. Then again, neither of them would ever get a word in edgewise.

"You mean do a controlled transformation?" Bruce asked. "Right now? _Here_?"

"Why not?"

"I can think of so many reasons. One being not collapsing Stark Tower."

"Hm. Good point. It was a real pain in the ass finding an insurer when you moved in." Oblivious to Bruce's reddening face at that reminder, Tony breezed on. "We do have a jet, you know. We could go someplace remote-Pakistan. Pick up some more shawarma from that place in Kabul on the way back."

"I think I'll just stick with my plan to hop on the treadmill and break them in and hope for the best next time there's a Code Green."

"Ballsy. Pun intended. I like it. Romanoff?"

"The pun, or Banner's trust in your fashion design?"

Tony grinned. "Shawarma Palace it is."

* * *

Steve checked his wristwatch. "You know, this may be the first time I've ever sat around waiting for Romanoff. She's normally pretty low-maintenance."

"She defies a lot of stereotypes." Bruce put on his glasses and looked at his own watch, as much to confirm the time as to avoid Steve's honest gaze, which always knew when other people's wasn't, entirely. "We've still got time to make the first show."

They were going to Lincoln Center for the annual Monster Mash-inee. Horror wasn't normally Bruce's genre of choice, given the stress factor and general dislike of vioence, but he did like old school monster movies. Anyway, Natasha really wanted to go to the double feature of _Frankenstein_ and _The Bride of Frankenstein_ , and when Steve and Thor expressed interest, as well, it seemed like the perfect chance to hang out with her with a group. Barton was away on another mysterious trip, and Tony refused to see any movies that were older than he was and stayed at the Tower to plan a proper horror fest for later that night.

"If I were a betting man" Bruce added, "I'd put my money on her beating Thor down."

"Well, he's got those flowing locks to maintain."

At that moment, the elevator arrived, and the doors parted to reveal Natasha. Dressed as Bruce had never seen her, in ripped jeans, a clinging purple t-shirt, and a bubblegum pink wig.

"Is this some sort of punk Shakespeare?" he asked, gesturing to the text emblazoned on her shirt: _The Weird Sisters._ He didn't allow his eyes to linger on her chest as she approached.

"You're Tonks from _Harry Potter_ , aren't you?" Steve said.

Natasha whipped a wand out of her back pocket and pointed it at him. "Ten points to Gryffindor."

"I don't remember that character," Bruce said. "Granted, I only read the first couple books to teach myself Hindi, so. A lot was lost in translation."

He wasn't surprised Steve had read _Harry Potter_ , given his mission to catch up on pop culture, but Natasha? Then again, she'd revealed a number of nerdier interest than he would've expected from someone as cool as her.

"Tonks shows up in _Order of the Phoenix_ ," she explained. "She's a Metamorphmagus-a shapeshifter-and she's in magical law enforcement."

Bruce grinned. "I see why you're a fan. Sorry, I didn't realize we were wearing costumes."

"It's Halloween, guys. Always dress up for Halloween."

Steve shook his head. "I wear a costume to work. You, though, Bruce-you got no excuse."

"He has a work costume now," Natasha said, waggling her eyebrows at Bruce.

"No way am I wearing the stretchy pants out in public."

"Here, carry my wand." She pressed it into his hand, leaving him no choice in the matter. "You'll pass for Remus Lupin."

Bruce trawled through his memory for the character name. When it came to him, his smile faltered. "The Werewolf? I guess there's a parallel. We both turn into monsters."

For a moment Natasha and Steve stared at him, an awkward silence hovering over the trio. Then Natasha rolled her eyes. "I meant because you're a professor wearing a tweed sport coat, you emo dork."

"Don't Lupin and Tonks end up secretly dating?" Steve asked in tones too innocent, even for him.

Natasha took the wand back from Bruce's suddenly slackened fingers and flicked it casually at Steve. " _Silencio_. No spoilers for Banner."

She said it coolly enough that Bruce decided not to read deeper into the exchange than Steve getting back at Natasha for her constant nagging about his love life. Nevertheless, he was grateful for the timing of the elevator doors opening again. Thor strode out in full regalia, complete with his seldom-worn helmet.

"See?" Natasha elbowed Steve in the side. "He's wearing _his_ costume."

"Jane said that if I wish not to be recognized on the street, I ought to go as myself. Then everyone will think I am simply a regular Midgardian dressed as Thor for Halloween."

"We'll see how that plan works out for you," Steve said, patting him on the shoulder.

Bruce's plans to enjoy a day out with his friends and not think about his more-than-platonic feelings for Natasha didn't seem to be working out at all. She sat by him, which in and of itself wasn't a problem, but as the lights dimmed and the first film rolled, she leaned over and whispered, breath warm against his neck, "Will you hold my hand if I get scared?" They shared a tub of popcorn, and more than once they reached into it at the same time, and their hands brushed.

At least Thor was there to break any romantic tension Bruce might have been imagining between them. He talked loudly throughout the films, perplexed about why they were in black and white instead of color, and scoffing at the monsters. "Are these creatures meant to be frightening?"

"They probably gave Steve nightmares," Natasha murmured.

"For weeks," he admitted.

As they exited the movie theater after the marathon, a couple dressed as Batman and Robin approached Thor. "Dude, that is an amazing cosplay. Will you take a selfie with us?"

He readily agreed, not without shooting a triumphant look at Steve. They didn't ask for pictures with Natasha, but they did compliment her Tonks costume and guessed Bruce was supposed to be Professor Lupin, and suggested next time to be a little shabbier. They just shook their heads at Steve, and told him never to be too cool for Halloween.

"Well it is Tony's goal to make us all cooler," Bruce said, in an attempt to console Steve, which was undermined by Natasha's snort of laughter.

The look Tony gave them when they arrived back at the Tower later said they were anything but coo. "Why are none of you wearing slutty costumes?" he asked. "That's what Halloween is _for_."

"Funny, I always thought it was an excuse to eat candy, and pretend to be someone you're not," Bruce murmured to Natasha.

"We saw many dressed as Avengers," Thor announced; on their walk home, trick-or-treaters and party-goers were out in force.

"Slutty Avengers?" asked Tony.

"We counted thirteen Hulks, twelve Captain Americas, and-"

"-eleven Widows dancing?" Tony interrupted. "And Iron Man was the big winner with…?"

"We counted just five Iron Men. There were fewer Hawkeyes," he added, as if to make his comrade feel better.

"A lot of Katniss Everdeens though," said Natasha, "so it's not like archery's out. I can't wait to call him and rub his nose in it."

"The Avengers are a culture, not a costume," said Tony with a shrug. "So! Who's up for horror movies?"

Only Thor wanted to join in, complaining about the lack of gore in the monster marathon and defying petty mortal entertainments to frighten the Son of Odin. Steve bowed out, saying he'd watched enough movies for one day. Bruce noticed the slope of his broad shoulders as he left the lounge. Maybe it had been too much for him, watching movies he'd seen what felt like not that long ago, perhaps even with Bucky Barnes.

"How do we want to celebrate your big costume contest win?" Natasha's voice rasped into his musings.

He looked up to see her stepping behind the bar, and realized that Steve's exit left them alone.

The exact situation he'd intended to avoid.

"I saw a recipe for a caramel apple martini," she went on, back to him as she took down two glasses, "and I'd be very surprised if Stark doesn't have all the ingredients for it."

Her t-shirt rode up above the low waist of her jeans as she stretched to reach the liquor shelf, baring the curve at the small of her back.

"I don't know if I should really be celebrating kids dressed up as tiny rage monsters."

"Oh." The monosyllable was underscored with a clunk as Natasha set a vodka bottle down, too hard, on the bar top. She turned her head, just enough that he could see her profile between the strands of vivid pink wig. "Then I guess I shouldn't have been happy about the seven tiny assassins, huh?"

Heat streaked upward from Bruce's collar. "That's not what-"

"You know Black Widow costumes are always kind of hard to find. Unlike those big foam Hulk hands."

Bruce stared down at his own hands where they rested on the bar, fingers laced together too tightly, too tense. He let out a long slow breath, tried to relax them, but it was difficult with those big green hands in his mind.

"After everything that's been on the news about me," she went on, selecting another few bottles, filling the cocktail shaker with a small measure of each, "I can't believe they even made any at all. Maybe they didn't. Maybe those were the handiwork of seven nutjob Pinterest moms who didn't mind letting their daughters dress like a former KGB killer for Halloween." Ice cubes rattled against the stainless steel as she mixed the drinks vigorously. When it stopped, she added, "Or maybe it's seven amazing parents who want to teach their daughters about giving people second chances. Or maybe they just think the utility belt's cool."

"It is," Bruce said as she rimmed the martini glasses in caramel sauce. "I wish I had one. Think Tony'd make me a stretchy one?"

One corner of Natasha's lips hitched upward as she poured her mixture into each glass, only to draw into a serious expression once more as she turned to face him fully, offering him a drink. The tips of their fingers touched as he took it from her.

"They don't put on Hulk masks to be rage monsters. They put them on to be the big green hero who saved New York from aliens. Who rescued a bunch of blind kids who were Hydra slaves. Who took out Hydra soldiers in Congo."

"Rocinha, Culver…Harlem…It's not always bad guys, Natasha. The first time I Hulked out, I hurt the woman I...I hurt Betty."

Natasha didn't reply to that, just watched him with her unblinking green eyes, waiting for him to say his piece.

"How can you be sure I won't hurt _you_? That this plan of yours to help me change back will work?"

"Because I see a lot more of kids in Hulk masks in the Big Guy than this monster you keep insisting he is. Seriously," she said over him when he tried to laugh it off, leaning on the bar. "Didn't you see that toddler Hulk having a meltdown? It was exactly like the real thing in Congo."

"Don't downplay-"

"And he _listened_ to me. Eventually. We have a connection."

He felt the brush of her fingers on his wrist where their hands lay on the bar.

"He listened to Betty, too, didn't he? In Harlem?"

Bruce nodded, and picked up his drink. He needed it.

Because he didn't just have a crush on Natasha.

He'd fallen in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys really overwhelmed me with your response to Chapter 17. It's lovely to know so many of you are reading and enjoying the fic and don't want it to end. I don't want it to end, either! It's just been so much fun to write and share. Especially coming up with headcanons like Science Broga pants during silly conversations with [Magical_Destiny](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Magical_Destiny/pseuds/Magical_Destiny) (whose BruceNat fics are awesome). For those of you who saw the Bruce and Natasha as Remus and Tonks fanart on the [askbruceandnatasha](http://askbruceandnatasha.tumblr.com/) Tumblr last week, I solemnly swear I'd already drafted this scene before it appeared there! Just couldn't resist a shout-out to one of my past fandoms; from the moment I started shipping BruceNat I thought how they have a lot in common with Remus and Tonks (though hopefully a happier ending). As always, many thanks to everyone who's read and commented, and most of all to my beta, [Vladnyrki](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vladnyrki/pseuds/Vladnyrki) (whose fics you should also read). <3


	19. Bedside Manners

The Hulk had a habit of running off when a fight was winding down. He ran surprisingly fast, too, for such a big guy, and covered a lot of ground. Luckily, he was easy to track; all Natasha had to do was follow the runaway's trail of rage crumbs through the woods. Like Hansel and Gretel. She'd read it to Coop and Lila once, and been surprised when they were too scared to sleep.

Natasha could move quickly, too, agile as the Red Room made her. Normally. Today she stumbled over roots and fallen branches, the debris of the fight with Hydra. She was favoring her right leg, she noticed. The back of her knee stung, and she reached back to touch it gingerly. She looked at her gloved hand, saw the dark shimmer of blood on the fingertips.

A shiver rippled over her, and she lurched into motion again. It wasn't exactly a balmy day in Transylvania, and as the shadows of the nagged and gnarled branches lengthened across the forest floor the chill set in rapidly, the sweat beneath the clinging fabric of her suit becoming her own personal air conditioner. Good thing she'd grabbed a sweater for Bruce to pull on after he changed back, though she wanted to huddle into its warmth herself. She fumbled again as it snagged on a reaching shrub.

Drawn by the Hulk's telltale stomping and snarling,Natasha came out into a clearing, a circle of dead ground ringed by the weird curling trees. According to local legend, the Hoia-Baciu Forest was cursed, a frequent site of paranormal phenomena. Which was about what you'd expect from home of the Dracula legends, but turned out there really were strange things at work here, thanks to the Hydra lab hidden away from the curious eyes of UFO chasers and ghost hunters, and from the spiritualists who came to channel the forest's mystical powers. Some of them actually had gained special abilities here, though less mysticism was involved than mad science. Like Hansel and Gretel, they would've been better off keeping out of the woods.

Natasha was ready to get out of here, too.

"Hey, Big Guy."

Her voice didn't carry far, the three short syllables difficult to get out when she was winded by her run. The Hulk didn't turn around, but the momentary rigidness of his broad shoulders, a twitch of his ear, told her he'd heard her despite her low volume. He ignored her-a child determined not to let the grownup put a stop to playtime. She bent to catch her breath, hands on her knees, wincing as this added weight to the right leg. It started to buckle, but she managed to stay upright, even as the forest seemed to sway around her. At her grunt, he turned his head, eyes narrowed to wary slits, watching her over his shoulder as though she were trying to trick him. Which she was.

"Sun's gettin' real low…" Even the forest clearing seemed darker than it had only a second ago. "I don't know about you, Big Guy, but…I'm a little tired."

She sank to the ground, felt the tremor of his weight as he bounded toward her. Her vision was hazy, but she blinked to clear it and saw that though his features remained set in harsh lines, he looked more afraid now than angry. She reached out to him, hand pawing the air blindly for his arm to touch him in that way that always reassured him. The tips of her fingers brushed one of his, and he flinched away from her. He held his hand in front of his face, and he squinted at it in such a Bruce-like way that she half-expected to see him reach into his lab coat pocket and take out his glasses. At the image of the Big Guy in a lab coat and glasses- _Dr. Hulk-_ she laughed, or tried to laugh, but only got out a huff of breath that made her chest seize. As she leaned forward against the pain, she noticed red glistening on the tip of the green skin. _Blood_.

"Doc," she said in an exhale. "Think I…need medical attention."

His eyes flashed brown, but he roared and tried to run off again. Too late, though; the change had already begun and he crashed to the ground, hands clawing at the edge of the circle as if that would help the Hulk hang on to himself. But his hands had shrunk, the green receding from the tips of his fingers like a wave sliding away from the shore.

For a moment he lay in the dirt, making Natasha think of a shipwreck victim dragged in by the tide. She felt herself begin to recede from him, blackness closing in as she gasped for breath, or to say his name. The muscles flickered across his back and his arms flexed to push himself up, then his head turned to look at her over his shoulder, hair tumbling over his forehead? At once his eyes widened.

"Tasha!" He scrambled to her, barely getting to his feet before he flung himself onto the ground again. "Oh nononono-"

She followed his eyes downward to the darkening pool beneath her right leg. That was a lot of blood, she registered, before looking up again, curling her fingers around his wrist.

"Wasn't you."

The sound of ripping fabric. Through the haze she saw him tearing up the shirt she'd brought him.

 _You already ruined one shirt today_ , she wanted to joke as he gently lay her back, lifted her leg to press the makeshift bandage to the back of her knee, but she couldn't make her voice form the words. She couldn't even laugh at the thought, her attempt turning into a cough.

"Cap, I need some help out here."

"What's the problem?"

Steve's voice, close in her ear. Where was he? Oh, right, the comms.

"Natasha's down."

"Down?" Clint's voice. "How?"

"I don't know, exactly. Laceration of some sort, on the back of the knee. Might be the popliteal artery…She's losing blood fast…"

"JARVIS, send the quinjet to Dr. Banner's location. Hey, Bruce, does this mean you're the naked nurse?"

"Not the time, Tony."

Natasha grinned as her gaze trailed down from Bruce's chest. "Hey, the Broga pants work," she murmured.

And blacked out.

* * *

She came to on the quinjet, roused by a high _blip….blip…blip…_ She was lying down, on her stomach. Not a bed in the jet. The exam table. The beep was the heart monitor.

Her eyes opened halfway and hazily on Clint, watching her from his position at her side.

"Bruce," Natasha rasped through a throat that felt like she'd swallowed broken glass.

"You hit your head out there too? It's me, Clint."

She would've made a face at him if she could, but she didn't have the energy to move her facial muscles. She managed to croak out, "Never mistook you for a genius."

"Congratulations, Doc, you've obviously saved her," Clint deadpanned.

"Not out of the woods yet."

Bruce's soft, stiff voice came from her other side, further down the table, near her legs. Summoning what little energy remained, she turned her head and could just see him over her shoulder. He'd put on a shirt, and his glasses slipped down his nose as he bent over to suture the back of her knee. That shouldn't be comfortable, but she didn't feel a thing. Local anesthesia, she guessed, or she was just beyond pain at this point.

She blinked to clear her blurred vision and made out the trickle of sweat on his furrowed brow. His face was pale. Stopping a teammate from bleeding out wasn't his preferred way to recover from a Hulkout. The image of his terror when _he_ changed back and saw her injured wouldn't leave her any time soon.

"It wasn't you," she said, again.

Bruce's eyes didn't flicker from his work, although his jaw muscle flexed. Natasha felt her own concentration, and consciousness, slipping again, dimly aware of Steve's voice, sounding far away, talking about the enhanced people we fought.

"No disrespect, Cap," Clint cut him off, "but we can debrief later. Nat needs to rest."

His fingers stroked her hair, as she'd seen him soothe Cooper and Lila, as he'd soothed her during countless injuries at SHIELD, and her eyelids drooped over the image of Bruce's hands drawing the suturing needle back and forth until she drifted away.

* * *

_Blip…blip…blip…_

The heart monitor invaded Natasha's sleep again. At first she assumed that meant she was still on the quinjet, but as she lay with her eyes shut, trying to ignore it and fall back asleep, she noticed the absence of engine noise, the low rumble of the others' voices. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she squinted against fluorescent lights. Bruce's lab. The med bay.

She darted her gaze around until it fell on Bruce himself, seated at her bedside. At some point he'd traded the stretchy pants and sweatshirt for his typical button-down, slacks, and lab coat, though the silvery shine of stubble along his jaw made it a safe bet he hadn't left her side for longer than to change, possibly to shower. His glasses perched at the end of his nose as his head bent, presumably to read the tablet in his lap, but his only movement was the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

Part of her wanted to let him go on sleeping, and let herself go on watching, but he was probably sitting there because he wanted to watch her sleep.

"What's up, Doc?"

He sat up, lifting his head with a sharp intake of breath. He blinked, once, then pushed up his glasses.

"Tasha," he breathed. "You're awake."

He said it as if he'd been worried she wouldn't. The lines that of his face seemed to fade, almost as if they'd been drawn on and erased. His obvious relief made Natasha's throat tighten.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Thirsty."

"I'll get you some water."

At once Bruce stood, the tablet he'd forgotten sliding off his lap to the floor. A smile tugged at the corner of Natasha's dry lips as she watched him stoop to pick it up and check the screen for damages before setting it on the desk. He bumped it with his elbow when he turned, nearly knocking it off again, and he overfilled the glass of water at the tap.

As he returned to her bedside, she tried to sit up.

"Wait, let me help." Bruce moved to adjust the back of the table into a more upright position. She reached for the glass, but to her dismay the movement winded her. He supported the glass as she drank. "Take it slow…Make sure you can keep it down…"

She swallowed, the water deliciously cool and an instant relief to her parched throat. His eyes met hers.

"You look like hell, Bruce."

He let out a puff of a laugh as he lifted his chin and rubbed his fingers across the growth of beard. Natasha heard the rasp of it, the lab silent except for the steady _blip_ of the heart monitor and the hum of the computers. "I don't have to lose nearly thirty percent of my blood volume to achieve that."

That much? She let her head rest back against the pillow. "I don't want to know how I look."

"You've looked better," he said, offering the glass again.

"Your bedside manner sucks."

"I was going to say your worst is still better than most people's best."

Bruce glanced away, intent on his thumb wiping the condensation from the glass. His lower lip caught between his teeth in that self-conscious expression Natasha knew so well-now she knew _why_.

To her surprise, he lifted his gaze to meet hers again and said, "Your eyes open was one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen."

 _Blip-blip-blip._ The tempo of the heart monitor increased, and he broke their eye contact to look at it. Natasha reached for the glass and of water and took a long drink, inhaling and exhaling slowly until her heart resumed its usual rhythm.

"Did I need a transfusion?"

"Not so far," Bruce answered, returning to her bedside, "but you still could. Dr. Cho's on her way from Seoul right now."

"Is that necessary? You obviously stopped the bleeding, or we wouldn't be having this conversation now."

He shook his head, one corner of his mouth curving in that self-effacing half-smile. "Battlefield medicine isn't my area of expertise. You were on the ground…"

His sentence trailed off, the slight smile fading with the words as his eyes darkened with a distant expression. She could see him reliving the scene in the Transylvanian woods.

"The risk of infection alone is…And if I didn't suture your artery just right, you could develop circulatory problems…If it's between being overly cautious and you losing your leg…" He finished with a shrug.

"If I do, I'll sue you for malpractice," Natasha teased, hating that he felt that weight of responsibility on top of everything else.

"I don't even have a medical license." The joke came out brittle.

With effort, Natasha reached out and touched his face. "Have you slept at all since your transformation?"

"Cat naps," Bruce admitted.

She scuffed his cheekbone with her thumb, felt the soft prickle of his stubble against her palm as he leaned into her touch.

"Sun's getting' real low…"

"I think that only works on the Other Guy."

Was it her imagination, or did his face get warmer? He moved away, as if he'd suddenly become aware of how close they were.

"Worth a shot," Natasha said. He was admitting that her technique worked on the Big Guy, so…progress. "You need to sleep. When Dr. Cho gets here, promise me you will."

"Or what?"

"I'll kick your ass." She winced a little at a throb of pain from her injured leg. "As soon as I can kick."

* * *

The next morning, satisfied that Natasha still didn't need a blood transfusion or seem in danger of developing an infection or circulatory problems or any of the plethora of complications Bruce worried about, Dr. Cho released her to continue recovery in her room.

"You'll want to be comfortable as possible, because it'll be a slow process," she said in her brusque way. "Your body must replenish its blood volume. Don't be surprised if you feel weak for a month to six weeks. A trip to the bathroom might be exhausting. Certainly you won't be up to any missions for some time."

"Let's hope Hydra decides to take some time off for the holidays," Clint quipped as he helped her to her quarters; Bruce had stayed in the lab to consult further with Dr. Cho, with Natasha's admonishments to go to his own room to rest, lest she delegate the ass-kicking to one of the able-bodied superheroes in the building. "I guess this means you won't make it for Thanksgiving this year, huh? Kids'll be bummed."

"Maybe I could-"

"Think about what you're saying, Nat. Being anemic at the funny farm? You'd get _no_ rest."

She couldn't speak for a moment, an unexpected lump rising into her throat. She didn't consider herself a sentimental person, but she'd never missed a Thanksgiving with the Bartons unless she'd been on mission. Somehow, not a lot of assignments had coincided with the holiday. But as Clint helped her settle on the couch in the seating area of her room, her limbs sinking into the cushions like dead weight, she had to admit he was right. And Laura had enough people to take care of between the two actual children, the one on the way, and Clint with his never ending home improvement projects, without adding an invalid to the mix.

"Hey." He squeezed her shoulder. "That's what video chats are for. I'll get them to make you get well soon hand turkeys."

"They do say hand turkeys are the best medicine."

Bruce took the more traditional approach, and brought flowers when he came to check on her: an autumnal arrangement of butterscotch daisies, peach roses, and red button carnations.

"Finally, one of you lugs knows how to treat a lady," she said in her Katharine Hepburn voice, in an attempt to sound _too_ excited-though of course the lack of energy made that more or less impossible.

"Huh? Oh." He looked down at the bouquet as if he'd forgotten he was clutching it in his hand. "I was grocery shopping…"

_Spontaneous grocery store flowers._

"…and these reminded me of you."

"Orange?" she teased.

He flushed, and she relented.

"They're lovely," she said, and though he looked pleased, she also thought his face might have gone a shade redder. "Thank you. They go with my art."

"And your hair."

"I don't have a vase…"

"I can go find something." Bruce jerked his thumb toward the door. "I'm sure Tony's got one around here. Probably a priceless work of art."

"I think you mean a _vahz_." Natasha smirked at the thought of the supermarket bouquet filling one of Pepper's collector's pieces. "Later. For now, sit. You still look dead on your feet."

"I napped before I went grocery shopping."

He looked around in befuddlement for a moment before deciding the bouquet would be all right laid on the coffee table, then seated himself in the armchair adjacent to the couch.

"You didn't need to do that," Natasha said.

"We didn't have that much in the kitchen, and you need iron-rich foods to get your strength back." His eyes went to the flowers again. "I'll find something to put these in when I go check on the stew."

"You made stew?"

If getting up wouldn't take so much effort, she'd do it, then march right over to his chair, bend down, and kiss him. Maybe it was just as well she couldn't.

"I didn't think to ask if you like stew," Bruce said, worry lining his brow. "It just seemed like it would be a good thing for you."

"If you made it, I'm sure it will be," Natasha reassured him, "but rest would be good thing for _you_."

"Don't worry about me. I'll have plenty of time for that. Cap says as long as you're grounded, I am, too."

"That should make you happy."

She meant to be flippant, but Bruce wore a rueful smile.

"You're right. I'm not a fighter-or I'd rather not be…But you are, and I respect that. If it takes you getting hurt to get me off the hook, then I'd rather be out in the field fighting with you."

"Bruce, that…" …was one of the more touching things anyone had said to her, so much so that she found it difficult to reply. Before she could think how, he continued:

"That's the irony, isn't it? I've spent all this time worrying that the Other Guy would hurt you…"

"But I got hurt anyway," she finished he thought for him, thinking he'd come around to her perspective at last, that the Big Guy, at least now that he knew she was on his side, was the least of her worries. "Hazard of the job."

He didn't seem to hear her. "Then your life was in _my_ hands, and I had the potential to do just as much damage as him."

So much for a breakthrough.

"Bruce, I think he let you come back because he knew I needed you to help me. Or you fought to come back because you knew you could."

He didn't reply to that, and his expression turned inward. Natasha couldn't tell if that meant he was thinking about her words, or if he just didn't buy them.

* * *

"Of all the things that are still around from my day," said Steve, coming into the TV room and pausing at the end of the couch where Natasha curled up, "I wouldn't have picked the Macy's Parade."

"I thought you were going to say Thanksgiving." She swirled the tip of her fork through the blob of whipped cream on top of her pumpkin pie and sliced off a bite. "You know, because you were there for the first one."

She didn't have to turn her head from the big screen to know what his reaction was, but she did anyway because it was always so rewarding to see him fighting a smile as he shook his head.

"You're obviously on the road to recovery."

"I have a good doctor."

Currently, the doctor was in the kitchen, getting a start on Thanksgiving dinner while she watched the parade from the next room. She'd rather be in there with Bruce, if not helping him cook, then watching him and sneaking tastes from mixing bowls when his back was turned like she had the day before when he decided to get a head start on the pies. But two weeks post-injury, she still didn't last long on her feet, and she hadn't had it in her to protest this morning when he got her settled on the comfy sectional with a slice of pie and cup of coffee and turned the parade on. They couldn't miss the Stark Industries float.

"And pie for breakfast, is that Dr. Banner's orders?" Steve asked, sitting down beside her.

Natasha nodded as she chewed. It had been one of Bruce's rare moments of opening up about his past; he'd told her how his Aunt Susan-who'd sent him her Thanksgiving recipes through snail mail on actual handwritten recipe cards _(Sounds like you'd get along, Rogers. Want me to fix you up?)_ -was a bit of a health nut, but every year on Thanksgiving she indulged him with pie for breakfast. _"It made up for the green bean casserole she made me eat at dinner_. _"_

She swallowed and reached for her coffee. "You know what they say. A slice of pie a day keeps the doctor away."

"And here I was under the impression that was the opposite of what the doctor wanted."

Natasha sipped her coffee and pretended to be interested in the massive dance team comprised of teenagers from across the country currently performing in front of the department store. When they finished their routine to _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and the network went to a Macy's Black Friday ad, she glanced up at Steve.

She hadn't spoken about what was happening between her and Bruce to anyone. Hell, it was only very recently that she'd begun to think about it in concrete terms to herself. She'd had lots of time and little else to think about during her recovery.

"You noticed that, huh?"

"If it makes you feel any better, you're a little harder to get a read on than Banner."

"God I hope so, or I've failed as a super spy."

"So it is mutual."

Draining her coffee, Natasha traded her empty mug for the pie plate. "If I say yes, are you going to give me a Captain-America-wants-YOU-to-stop-dating-your-co-workers speech?"

Because even if they hadn't given it a name, or talked about it, what they were doing was more like dating than anything she'd done in her life-even without the physical component. They were as squeaky clean as a 1930s romance, which was something for a Black Widow. Steve really ought to give them a seal of approval.

"I'll admit," he said, "I'm a little concerned at how a relationship might affect the team dynamics. As long as the scepter's still in Hydra hands, it's more important than ever for us to all have each other's backs. There was already that one thing with Barton. Hulk's feelings and Bruce's are all mixed together, aren't they?"

She nodded.

"For what it's worth, you two have a nice way with each other. Obviously, or you wouldn't have been able to achieve what you have with the Hulk. It's easy to see how you could develop strong feelings for each other in an intimate situation like that."

The muscles between Natasha's shoulder blades tightened. "You don't think it's real?"

She didn't know which idea chafed more: that Bruce's feelings might have developed out of a sense of gratitude toward her for helping him get control of the Hulk, or that hers weren't to be trusted.

"That's the opposite of what I think," said Steve, eyebrows drawing together above his honest eyes.

Natasha relaxed, let out a breathy chuckle. "Believe it or not, this is all really new to me."

"And yet you dole out relationship advice to me like a love expert." He shook his head in mock-disapproval.

"Since when does pointing out cute girls qualify as advice?" Natasha let her gaze wander back to the TV, where the Superman balloon was coming down 34th Street. "I've been attracted to people before, but this is the first time a friendship's grown into something more."

It had happened so gradually, in fact, that she hadn't even noticed what was happening until it was too late to stop it. Just like it was too late to stop the smile from forming on her lips. But when she looked at Steve again, she saw a similar one on his face.

"You know, of everyone on the team, I wouldn't have put you two together-"

"I thought you _weren't_ putting us together," Natasha said, though she did see his point. Didn't disagree with it, either. It helped that she'd already determined that moving forward with Bruce was going to require more time and patience than recovering from a nicked popliteal artery.

"Right now? I'm not encouraging it. After the job's done? I'll happily pay back all your attempts at setting me up by harassing you to ask Banner out. I think you two could have a foundation for something really good."

The conversation came to an end when Bruce rushed into the room, oven mitts still on his hands, as the Stark Industries float came onscreen. Tony had wanted to have all the Avengers on it, but all of the Avengers flatly refused, and as CEO, Pepper vetoed the idea. She thought the company needed to promote its actual work in clean energy rather than on Tony bankrolling yet another defense project-even if the Avengers were generally viewed favorably at the moment. Tony complied, and the parade commentators _oohed_ and _aahed_ over the sleek float that promoted an energy-efficient holiday season-not _just_ Christmas. A surprising show of inclusivity for him.

Until Iron Man flew over Santa's sleigh at parade's end.

"What was that you were saying about relics from your day?" Natasha asked Steve.

"The holiday season hasn't begun till a Stark upstages Santa."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter to go! Alas, I'm going to be out of town next weekend and won't be able to update. When I realized how the timing would work out, I couldn't believe it. Hopefully the length and shippiness of this chapter will make up for the wait. Thanks so much for all your feedback on the previous chapter; I hope you'll let me know what you think of this one! As always, I can't thank Vladnyrki enough for her beta work, especially when she's busy with her own RL projects, and special thanks this week to magical-destiny for the inspiration about Tony at the Macy's Parade. ;)


	20. Not Just For Children

Barton joked about Hydra taking time off for the holidays, but a few weeks into December, Maria Hill had yet to pass along new intelligence to the Avengers.

"My source has everything well in hand," was all she said when Cap pressed her on the subject.

It went without saying that Steve didn't find this answer satisfying. Bruce, on the other hand, was more than content to let Maria's _source_ handle things for the foreseeable. Even Natasha, who never could sit by totally idle, didn't seem too anxious to get back in the field when her digging turned up some reports from Puerto Rico that didn't quite add up. She wasn't cleared for it yet, anyway, so while she channeled her increased energy into her recovery, Bruce concentrated on locating the scepter from the comfort of his lab. He even had time to resume his own research, which had been stagnating.

Or at least he would have, if Tony hadn't hijacked his brain and the lab to start the groundwork on one of _his_ projects which would, in his words, "make the spirit of Christmas last all year long."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Natasha asked as he brought her a mug of hot chocolate to sip while they watched _Holiday Inn_. "Stark's branching out into the greeting card business?"

Bruce nearly snorted hot chocolate out his nose, which probably would have been quite painful. Possibly enough to bring the Other Guy out.

"I think he means more along the lines of _peace on earth_ , in which case it's really just business as usual for Tony. Actually…" He seated himself down the sectional from her stretched-out legs. "I think this is partly inspired by you."

Natasha's eyebrows went up as she lowered the mug. "Me?"

Bruce scuffed his hand over his chin, feeling the prickle of the day's growth of stubble-Or _had_ he remembered to shave since yesterday?-as he mulled over an explanation. He should have thought before he spoke.

After a moment, he settled on a shrug and, "You know Tony. Always wise-cracking to hide the fact that he has a gooey center. You were the first one of us to get injured on a mission. He's been talking ever since about how we're just six people doing the job of a massive government agency, one of whom only has…" He cleared his throat. "… _puny arrows_."

Now it was Natasha's turn to snort. "Sounds more like he's worried about Barton. As well he should be."

Underneath the smirk, Bruce recognized the insecurity, like he was looking in a mirror. He knew how important trust was to Natasha, how she'd felt she didn't have Stark's long before her SHIELD files leaked, and he combed through his brain for a way to tell her Tony really did care about her. Problem was, he'd phrased it in terms of Bruce being codependent on her, which he doubted would go over well.

"Sweet of Tony, though," she went on, dryly, "to think about the mere mortals on the team. As if he isn't one out of the suit."

"That's the root of it," Bruce said, growing serious as he studied the contents of his mug. "It's been just about a year since the whole Mandarin thing, and I think the holidays are triggering his PTSD. God, I hope he doesn't expect me to play therapist again."

He didn't need to worry about that. Pepper had better control over Tony than Maria Hill's _source_ likely had over SHIELD; when he holed up, obsessing over security more than she felt was healthy for him-or productive for Bruce-she made plans to get him out of the Tower.

Not that Tony was going to go quietly when found out the destination was Lincoln Center for the New York City Ballet.

" _The Nutcracker_ , really Pep? If you're going to make me sit through Christmas dancing, why can't it at least be the Rockettes?"

"Because Stark Industries isn't a generous donor of the Rockettes-"

"That's a problem we need to address, like, yesterday."

"-and because you owe me for the giant stuffed rabbit."

That shut him up.

He was also slightly ameliorated by the fact that he wouldn't be subjected to the torture alone, Pepper having gotten tickets for Bruce and Natasha, Steve and Maria, too-until Bruce let him down by revealing he wouldn't find a night at _The Nutcracker_ torturous at all. In fact he was excited, once he'd gotten over his initial panic that Pepper meant it to be a triple date. There was nothing going on between Cap and Hill, so far as he knew, though maybe this was one of Natasha's attempts to set up Steve.

"I've never been to the ballet," he said, "unless my cousin's ballet recitals count, and I don't think they do because she was only in preschool, maybe kindergarten."

Bruce couldn't help but grin at the memory of Jennifer in her pink tights and tutu, but the smile Natasha gave back seemed mechanical, as if her brain had told her lips to curve upward but emotion had been bypassed.

"I've been to a few operas," he rambled on. "My Aunt Susan's a music teacher, so she used to take me to university productions back in Ohio. But this will be my first ballet. I mean, I've listened to ballet music, but...What about you?"

"Have I ever been to the ballet?"

It had been a long time since she'd seemed tense around him, but he thought she did now.

"That was probably a dumb question." He rubbed the back of his neck, the hair curling over his collar tickling the backs of his fingers; he'd need a trim before the ballet. "You've probably seen the greatest dancers in the world...the Mariinsky...Ballet Russes...?"

"The Bolshoi."

"You've seen to the Bolshoi? Wow."

"Mmm."

He guessed _wow_ hadn't been the appropriate response. "Not a fan?"

"You could say that," Natasha replied.

Bruce didn't say that, or anything else on the subject, and the barrier that briefly came between them dropped again. That didn't stop him from feeling like an ass for whatever he'd said to make her erect it in the first place.

The night of the ballet he feared making an even bigger jackass of himself for an entirely different reason. Following her up the staircase in the theater, he couldn't keep his eyes off the exposed V of milky skin between jade silk where her evening gown dipped low. He gripped the handrail tightly, shoved his other fisted hand deep into his trouser pocket, and tried to distract himself from the question of whether her skin was as smooth and soft as it looked by listening to Tony's continued complaints.

"You guys can't tell me I'm the only one who isn't excited about this?"

"I grew up poor in Brooklyn," said Steve. "Attending the New York City Ballet in Lincoln Center wasn't something I ever imagined for myself."

"Especially since the New York City Ballet didn't exist at the time. Maria?"

"What woman doesn't love an excuse to get dressed up?"

"Who did your dress?" Pepper asked-an innocuous enough question, and not directed at Bruce, but nevertheless sending him into a spiral of panic as the women's conversation inevitably brought Natasha's dress to the forefront of his thoughts.

"This sounds to me like a case of the Tony doth protest too much," Steve's voice drew him back. "If you really wanted to get out of this, you would've bought out the performance and whisked all the ballerinas off on your yacht."

"I think Steve's accusing you of losing your edge as an eccentric billionaire," said Pepper, looking positively gleeful about it.

"I liked you so much better when you were culturally illiterate." Tony scowled over his shoulder at Steve. "Why can't you just watch old black and white movies like Bruce?"

"You just gonna let that go, Doc?"

He found himself no longer staring at a green dress but into eyes the same shade as Natasha paused at the top of the stairs to face him.

"Oh, um…I was concentrating on not imitating Cary Grant in _Bringing Up Baby_ and stepping on your dress."

"Probably wise, since you don't have a top hat to cover me with if you tear it. Shame. I think you could carry off 1930s menswear."

He let out a puff of a laugh and ducked his head, realizing belatedly as he brought his eyes up to hers again that he looked like he was giving her an exaggerated once-over. Judging from the way her full berry-colored lips pressed together in that lopsided little smile of hers, she didn't mind. His heart sped up. Once upon a time, that would have had him running for the nearest exit and available yoga space, but tonight it just made him content to stay right here on this step.

"No, the Stepped Straight Out of Old Hollywood Prize goes to you. I, um, mean that as a compliment. Your dress is vintage, right?"

Her eyebrows twitched upward. "You have a good eye."

"The guy wearing the Christmas tie?" said Tony, hurrying back down the stairs.

"It's not a Christmas tie, it's just _red_!" Bruce protested, not for the first time.

Tony _hmmed_ dismissively, resentful that Bruce hadn't taken his suggestion of a black skinny tie. "Are you two going to stand there pretending to flirt all night, or is one of you going to come have a vodka martini with me?"

"Tony!" hissed Pepper, leaning over the railing above. "You are _not_ going to get drunk so you can endure _The Nutcracker_."

"Of course not, dear. I'm going to drink to Tchaikovsky."

Neither of them joined him, although Natasha did watch Tony retreat into the crowd around the lobby bar with a look like she was second-guessing her decision. She didn't resume their banter as they climbed the rest of the stairs to join the others. In the theater, she quietly perused her program until the house lights dimmed and the curtain rose. Bruce didn't think anything more of her change in demeanor as he was caught up in the bewitching score and the joy that played out so gracefully on stage, but when he turned to Natasha to offer his opera glasses, he found her sitting with rigid posture, jaw tensed as she stared straight ahead.

At the intermission, she trekked with Maria and Pepper to the ladies' room, but they came back without her. They were so caught up in the age-old rant about how the women's bathrooms always had lines five times as long as the men's that they barely noticed Bruce excuse himself. Steve did, but Tony remained comatose in his seat, as he had been since the ballet began.

Making his way downstairs, sure enough he spied Natasha just reaching the front of the line at the bar. He caught her eye, and she waved him over. Hands shoved into his trouser pockets, he approached just in time to hear her order champagne.

"And one for the gentleman." She surprised him with her movie star voice.

Bruce played along. "What makes you so sure I'm a gentleman?"

"You're buying me a drink, aren't you?"

Chuckling, he took out his wallet and handed the bartender a couple of bills and struggled not to break character by balking at the price of two glasses.

"To first ballets," Natasha said in a voice a little too like glass to be strictly down to their roleplay as they clinked their champagne flutes. "Is it everything you hoped?"

"I've heard this music so many times, but seeing it is…magical."

The corner of her mouth twitched, and Bruce gulped his very expensive champagne too quickly to taste whether it was worth what he'd paid for it. "That was cheesy."

"It's Christmas."

"In that case, _The Nutcracker_ makes me feel like a kid again."

A kid with a totally different childhood than he'd had. As he took another drink, he studied Natasha, saw that same sadness reflected in her eyes as her gaze drifted across the crowded lobby. He followed it and saw a young girl, no older than nine or ten, looking as dazzled as Clara in the ballet as she chattered to her parents about the first act.

"I'm sorry if you're not enjoying it," he said. "Or if…what I said the other night…"

"You don't need to apologize. There is something I want to tell you, though."

"Explains why you're plying me with champagne," Bruce joked lamely.

She led him outside to the plaza, where he started to protest about the cold-they'd left their coats in the cloakroom, and only a scrap of green silk covered Natasha's shoulders-but he was momentarily distracted by the lights from the theaters and concert halls that comprised Lincoln Center glittering off the fountain.

"Hey, you can see the Met Christmas tree from here."

He gestured to the arched front windows of the adjacent opera house, where the lobby gleamed gold, but Natasha had turned back toward him, looking up at the theater they'd just come out of, draped with posters for _The Nutcracker_ , lost in her own thoughts. Her arms wrapped around herself, hands rubbing the goosebumps on her arms. Bruce shrugged his shoulders to take off his suit jacket and offer it to her, but the rasp of her voice stopped him.

"When I was a girl in the Red Room…" She paused, considered for a moment, then met his eye and went on deliberately. "They made us believe we were ballerinas training for the Bolshoi."

Bruce's brow furrowed. " _Made_ you believe?"

"Implanted memories. Brainwashing techniques. An entire childhood's worth of memories fabricated to make us loyal to the Soviet Union and give us a veneer of identity. I never knew until I was at SHIELD that all of it was a lie. Of course I didn't believe them, until medical showed me how my body didn't exhibit any of the signs of wear and tear associated that kind of rigorous training." Her lips turned in a thin smile. "Only of training to be an assassin."

Bruce exhaled heavily, breath steaming out in the chilly night air. Rage simmered in his belly as he pictured Jennifer in her tutu and tights…the girl in the lobby with her parents…the women and children he'd just watched on stage, the epitome of grace telling a wordless story of innocence and whimsy. He saw Natasha on the battlefield, lithe and lethal, a distortion of the beautiful lie her creators spun for her and countless other little girls like her. His jaw popped as he ground his molars, fingers curled into fists with an instinct to put them through something that had nothing to do with the Other Guy.

Then her fingers with their French manicured nails curled around his wrist, stroking his pulse point beneath the cuff of his sleeve.

"It's okay," she murmured, but he shook his head.

"It's not okay, they-"

"You're right," she interrupted, still that hushed voice, soft as snowfall. "What Madame did to me in the Red Room isn't any more okay than what your father did to you. Which means you know exactly how difficult it was for me to trust anyone again after that."

He nodded, shuddered out another breath.

The rage subsided, like a boiling pot removed from the heat.

"But you did," he said. "You trusted SHIELD."

"More than trusted. They became my family. When that fell apart…I was lost."

It seemed so long ago since that day last spring when she came to his lab, asking if she could stay, and he'd thought how desperate she must have been to take refuge with him.

"I didn't know if I'd find myself again. Or a family, but…" She pressed her lips together against a smile, ducked her head and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Now who's being cheesy?" She glanced back up to the theater. "And making you late for the second act."

"We don't have to go back if you'd rather not," Bruce said. "If it's too uncomfortable…"

"It would be kind of fun to see Tony's reaction to us playing hooky," Natasha replied.

He returned her smile, even though if he was honest he felt a twinge of disappointment at missing the rest of the ballet. Then he felt her hand in the crook of his elbow, his arm curving automatically, and she pulled him gently toward the entrance.

"I'm okay," she said, squeezing his arm lightly. "There was one part I liked a lot."

"Yeah?"

"At the end of the party scene, when Clara and her brother and his friends got into a scuffle over the Nutcracker doll, then the parents took all the tired children home to bed."

"Remind you of someone you know?" Bruce reluctantly disentangled his arm from her so he could get the door for her.

Natasha entered, then turned back as he followed. "That movement's called the Lullaby. I think that's what we should call our thing."

He smiled at her, and offered his arm again. "The sun is getting real low…But I do get to stay up for the rest of the ballet, right?"

It wasn't joke material, and he knew he wasn't being reasonable, but he felt more on board with Natasha's schemes than he had with anything in a long time. He still didn't trust himself...even less the Other Guy. But he trusted her.

In fact he couldn't think of anyone he trusted more.

* * *

Bag in hand, Natasha stood outside the lab, watching Bruce through the windows before she went in. Although he was practically looking straight at her as he worked, the screens' reflection on his glasses told her he was oblivious to everything but the data that flashed neon in front of his eyes. She could be naked out here, and he wouldn't notice, the dork.

Not that she wanted him to notice her at the moment. She liked to watch him work, his fingers alternately swiping across the screens or scratching the back of his head, snaking up through his hair, giving himself the Einstein look, whenever he paused to think. It was going to take a lot of willpower not to smooth it back into place when she went in, or simply to weave her own fingers through it. But she had orders from Cap.

Although as the Avengers' hiatus dragged on, she was starting to get impatient. How long was she going to have to wait for the job to be done? Just as well that she was headed to the farm for a few days.

With a sigh, she hitched her bag over her shoulder and stepped inside, the door opening and closing again silently on its hinges. As she stepped into the lab she shivered and noticed the sleeves of Bruce's sweatshirt were tugged down over the heels of his hands. To warm them, maybe, but he always dressed in slightly baggy clothes, as if he were trying to make himself smaller, to shrink from sight. To compensate for the Big Guy? Her gaze went to the unruly curling hair again, which gave him a boyish look despite looming middle age. Or did his wish to go unnoticed have a longer history than the accident? Standing in the middle of the lab, with its openness and reflective or clear surfaces that lent the illusion of even more space, he looked small. And alone.

And since he still hadn't noticed her entrance-which she really couldn't hold against him; after all, she _was_ a spy-it was up to her to get his attention.

"Mr. Scrooge keeping you late tonight, Cratchit?" she said, by way of greeting.

He cocked his head to peer around the edge of his screen.

"Won't let you have another lump of coal for the fire?" she went on, approaching. "It's a meat lockerin here, and when a Russian admits to being cold..."

"Sorry," Bruce replied with an apologetic smile. "I was running a simulation and needed a lower temperature…If you can last another minute, I'll turn the thermostat back up."

"I'll just go huddle under your lab coat," she said, making her way to where it was draped over the stool at his desk. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught his grin widen before he turned back to his work, a smile forming on her own lips that he liked the thought of her wearing his clothes.

She really meant to put it on, but as she dropped her bag to the floor with a soft thud, she was distracted by a picture that lay on top of a stack of papers. A Christmas card, the kind she could never receive from the Bartons, with the photo of an almost ethereally beautiful brunette woman and a husband who kind of looked like a goober holding a chubby baby in elf PJs. _Season's Greetings From the Samsons!_ But Natasha didn't need to read that part to know who it was from. She would've known even if she'd never seen Betty Ross' picture in Bruce's SHIELD file.

Although she was curious, she didn't pick it up or turn it over to see if Betty had written a personal note to him on the back. She wasn't jealous; Bruce had told her they exchanged Christmas cards. Nevertheless, something inside her twisted.

"Does it make you sad?" she asked, sensing his gaze on her before she turned to look at him, knowing that he knew exactly what she was looking at. He'd cleared the data from his screens and stood with his hands woven together, more of the cuffs of the sleeves tugged down over them. "To see Betty with her family and wonder what might have been?"

Bruce didn't answer right away. He glanced down, hair tumbling over his forehead as he pulled off his glasses, folding the earpieces. He started to tuck them into his breast pocket, only to remember he didn't have one. She followed the flick of his eyes to where his lab coat lay, then up again, not quite meeting hers.

"JARVIS, will you raise the thermostat back to the usual settings?"

"As you wish, Dr. Banner."

"I loved her," Bruce admitted in that tight way of his, as if the emotion behind the words were too much to allow them fully past his lips. Like he had to fight to contain it as much as he did the Hulk. "I wanted to give her that life. I guess I did, in the only way I could." With a shrug, he finally met Natasha's gaze. "It used to hurt more. I'm happy she's happy."

"That's very noble of you."

"Apparently I'm a superhero."

Self-deprecating, but said with a smile. A small one, granted, but not bitter like the one he'd worn in Calcutta when he rocked the ramshackle cradle and mused on not getting what he wanted.

Maybe he wasn't _only_ happy that Betty was happy. Maybe he was just…happy? Natasha hadn't missed that he spoke in the past tense.

"Don't you have a plane to catch?" he asked.

She nodded. "I just wanted to say goodbye and…" Again she was struck by the image of him looking alone here. She wished she could at least tell him where she was going, though thankfully he accepted that she hadn't. It felt wrong to add, "Merry Christmas."

"How are you getting to the airport?"

"Cab."

"Why don't I…?" Bruce fidgeted with his glasses. "I mean…I could drive you. If you'd rather."

She definitely would, but she fought back a smile that might have been _too_ eager. She stepped toward him, the desk and the picture behind her.

"This is New York City, and it's snowing." Lifting an eyebrow, she teased, "You won't get road rage and Hulk out?"

He kept a straight face-mostly-but his eyes twinkled. "Not with you with me."

"You'll be driving back without me."

She stood close now, not quite toe-to-toe, but near enough that she had to look up at him to meet his eyes. To her slight surprise-but very much to her delight-he didn't back away. She could just smell his aftershave.

"Then I'll just have to think about you," he said with a grin, but immediately pressed his lips together and bent his head, self-conscious. "Anyway, the road rage isn't a huge risk. I'm used to keeping a lid on that. It's the risk of accident, and I ride with Tony on a regular basis, so…"

They took the Tesla Roadster, which was conspicuously green. Tony swore up and down it predated Bruce and therefore had nothing to do with Going Green in _that_ sense and everything to do with being environmentally conscientious. Natasha didn't buy it for a second, and though Bruce didn't either, it was his car of choice on the rare occasions he did drive.

"It's nice to go green in a way that doesn't involve death and destruction," he said, opening the passenger door for her. "And it's festive."

On the drive to JFK they blared Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby Christmas albums and sang along badly, and they arrived much sooner than Natasha would have imagined, with New York City traffic just a few days before Christmas.

She stood on the curb, brushing the softly falling snow off the shoulders of her army green pea coat, while Bruce got her bag out of the trunk. When he brought it to her, she didn't reach out at once to take it.

"I'll be back on the first," she told him, wishing she hadn't promised the kids she'd stay for New Year's Eve to make up for Thanksgiving, when she knew Tony would throw a great party at the Tower, and she'd have an excuse to kiss Bruce at midnight, even under Steve's watchful eye.

"Then I guess that means I should say, _See you next year_ ," Bruce replied.

"You are such a dork," Natasha said, but she reached out and caught his shoulder and drew him in for a hug.

His chuckle rumbled through their layers of wool coats and scarves and sweaters, and it and the weight of his arm circling her back-he held her bag in the other-were too much for her. The curb put her at the perfect height, and she yielded to impulse, pressing her lips to his cheek, letting her hand drift up to touch the hair curling over his collar. Bruce stood stock still at that, didn't even breathe. For a moment she lingered, smiling against his smooth cheek, watching her warm breath form steam in the glare of headlights behind them.

When she drew back, his arm remained firm around her waist, holding her so close that their noses bumped. She searched his eyes, saw them fixed on her lips; his tongue darted out to moisten his own. All at once she became aware of the hard thump of blood in her ears, felt the pounding of his.

A taxi horn blared, and they came apart as the cabby leaned out to bellow, "This ain't a Hallmark Channel movie, lovebirds, move it!"

* * *

Christmas at the farm definitely had a made-for-TV movie feel to it. Natasha's first glimpse of Cooper and Lila was of them leaping off the porch in PJs and boots and scampering through the snow toward the driveway as Clint pulled in. She'd barely climbed out of the truck before they tackle hugged her.

"Careful, you two," called Laura from the porch. "Auntie Nat's hurt, remember?"

" _Was_ hurt," Natasha told them as they scrambled off her, their momentarily worried expressions giving way once more to their ear-to-ear snaggletoothed grins. "I'm back to normal now."

"So can we have snowball fights?" Coop asked.

"Oh, we can definitely have snowball fights," said Natasha, bending to scoop one up.

"It won't be a fair fight," said Clint, mischief in his eyes, "what with Nat being all weak and out of practice from sitting on her butt all day watching sappy old movies."

She packed her snowball tight. "Actually, I've been itching for a fight," she said, and nailed Clint right at the head before he even saw it coming. Her eyebrows went up. "Who's out of practice?"

"The only gun he's fired in weeks in a nail gun," Laura said as Natasha trudged up the shoveled sidewalk to the porch, promising the kids they'd have a real snowball fight tomorrow. "You'll have to whip him back into shape."

They hugged, and Natasha felt the slight bulge of new Barton baby.

"Showing already," she said, and Laura made a face.

"I practically was when I took the pregnancy test. It gets earlier and earlier every time. But guess what! We already found out the gender. Well, we have a pretty good idea. Come in, I'll show you the sono pic, you can tell me what you think."

Following her into the house, Natasha glanced back at Clint, who carried her bag on his shoulder and Lila piggy-back. "Little Natasha? You been holding out on me?"

"That was supposed to be your Christmas present," he replied.

"Always a cheapskate, Barton. It's like you aren't rolling in residuals from all the Avengers merchandise."

"Apparently Banner is, though," he said a little while later, after the kids convinced her to let them open their presents from her early; they'd have all the stuff from Santa and their parents on Christmas Day, they insisted, confident against his teasing about them being on the naughty list this year. "Honestly, Nat, are you trolling me?"

"What?" she asked, innocently, looking at Coop's pile of Hulk gear-a bobblehead, a backpack, and t-shirt shirt that said, _I'd Flex, But I Like This Shirt_. "Laura told me he was really obsessed with the Big Guy. Which is so cute. Maybe I should tell the Big Guy so he'll leave you alone about your arrows."

"I sense there's a story here my husband neglected to tell me?" Laura smiled, but the lines around her eyes and mouth revealed her underlying concern about his Avenging.

"The real story is that Nat's apparently the Hulk Whisperer now," Clint sidestepped the question. "She's got this thing she does to make him change back."

"We're calling it the Lullaby," Natasha explained, pulling Lila into her lap as she rubbed her eyes, "because the Hulk is like these two when it's bedtime."

"I don't want to go to bed yet!" Lila protested. "I'm not tired! I want to stay up with Auntie Nat!"

"Can I try out my science set?" Cooper asked, clutching the box of the final present from her. "Just one experiment, please?"

Laura still looked worried, but she said, "Well that's it-Auntie Nat's in charge of bedtime while she's here!"

That in itself wasn't all that different from most of the time she was at the farm. Neither was staying up with Clint and Laura for a beer after the kids were in bed, or any of the next day's Christmas Eve traditions of baking cookies for Santa, going sledding and building snowmen, playing board games and then snuggling up with hot chocolate in front of the fire to watch _The Muppet Christmas Carol_ before bed.

Something was different, though: _her_. Natasha had always been grateful to Clint not only for saving her life, but for giving her a life. He and Laura both made her as much a part of the Barton family as if she were actually his sister, and after the way she'd been raised, she didn't think she'd ever need more of a family than this. Now, though, after her months of living at the Tower, covers blown, her real identity yet to discover, she understood just why it was so important to Clint that he had _this_. For the first time, she wondered if maybe she could, too. Not the farm or the kids, obviously, but a home, a life of her own beyond fighting.

They went to bed not long after the kids, knowing Christmas morning would come early; they'd have to beat the excited kids out of bed to stage Santa's visit. Natasha sat up, computer in her lap, scrolling through months of deleted emails, until she found a forward from Maria via Tony.

_If our mutual friend, the Itsy Bitsy Spy-der, comes looking for a job, tell her she's grossly overqualified for the available positions in any of these departments, but the division heads will nevertheless be happy to let her waste their time with interviews._

_IT Consulting_

_Systems Analyst_

_Customer Relations-Overseas Division_

_Security Management_

_Personal Assistant ;)_

Although she still thought her job options were as dire as she had then, this time the face she made was a smile. She clicked out of her email program and pulled up her video chat. Half a minute later, Bruce's voice crackled through the speaker.

"Tasha. Hi."

Her grin widened at the surprise in his voice. "Your video's not working."

"It's not? Hang on."

She almost told him not to bother, because she could easily visualize his expressions and mannerisms, but then he appeared on her screen in all his disheveledness.

"I'm surprised you're not in the lab," she said, noting the backdrop of the lounge behind him. She leaned back into the lumpy couch cushions behind her, wishing she were in her usual spot on the sectional.

"It's Christmas Eve," Bruce replied. "Closed up shop early."

"Where's Steve?"

"Candlelight service. I'd ask where you are, but that's probably classified..."

Actually it was.

"…so instead I'll ask if you need anything."

All this time, and he still thought she only came to him because she needed something.

"Actually, yeah," she said, shifting the laptop so she could adjust the knitted afghan over her legs. "I need someone to watch a movie with me."

Even over video chat, he glanced away, caught his lower lip between his teeth. " _It's a Wonderful Life_ is about to come on."

"Perfect," said Natasha.

* * *

"Hey," she said, crouching in front of Bruce's seat on the quinjet.

He pulled off his headphones, the muffled strains of an opera aria drifting out, and his eyes, shadowed with fatigue, sought hers.

"The Lullaby worked better than ever," she told him, and he smiled weakly, not nearly as excited as he should be that the scepter had been found, the job was done. "How long before you trust me?"

"It's not you I don't trust."

It should have made her sad-it _did_ make her sad-but it also made her heartbeat quicken. She looked across the bay and caught Steve watching her with a smile.

Tony piloted the plane west, toward the setting sun. To Natasha, it looked like the break of dawn.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It feels very strange to see those words at the end of this chapter. I was just typing along and suddenly that was it, the story I began in May, right after I saw Age of Ultron, was all told. Writing this fic has been one of the best fandom experiences I've had. For one, I've just loved this story about these characters. For another, I've loved sharing that with all you Bruce and Natasha fans, receiving such wonderful feedback about the story and my writing, and making new friends in the fandom. I can't thank you enough for sticking with me these past twenty weeks, but the biggest thanks of all go to Vladnyrki, without whom I never would have started writing MCU fic, and who served as much more than a beta reader.
> 
> I do hope I brought the story to a satisfying conclusion, and that if you thought so you'll let me know, one more time. And if you're sad that it's over, as I am, know that unlike Bruce, I will not be flying off in stealth mode now that the job's done. I have a whole Word doc full of Bruce x Natasha fic ideas just waiting to be written!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [At the Stroke of Midnight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5540456) by [mrstater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstater/pseuds/mrstater)




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